


Emotions are the Enemy

by hangtoughnkotb



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Benverly is soft, Bittersweet Ending, Blood & Gore, Character Death, Conflict, Eddie is an assassin, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Fluff, High School, Homophobia, M/M, Mike is a mess, Mike is also an assassin, Patrick is a dick, Violence, he’s also a mess, racial undertones, richie has a sister, this is also on wattpad for those users
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2020-03-13 15:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 27
Words: 65,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18943435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hangtoughnkotb/pseuds/hangtoughnkotb
Summary: Patrick Hockstetter sends two of his assassins to take out Richie Tozier and Stanley Uris in order to get a large sum of money stolen from his bank.





	1. New Assignment

           His bruised and bloodied face pleads for his life, hands tightly tied behind an uncomfortable metal chair, sweat dripping from every place you could think of. He is no older than eighteen but compared to the other boy in front of him, currently holding a Glock 19 in between his eyes, he looked significantly younger. Maybe it's the fact the other boy had matured faster than most, being the way that he's been for awhile. A job such as this would require him to do so, especially for what he's about to do right now.

            Of course a part of him knows it's unjust to do something like this to a kid. He wouldn't be able to graduate, get married, have a children. All of it, just torn away by grimy hands of death and it would be his fault. But at the same time, he needs to do what's best for himself which means going against his orders isn't an option so Eddie Kaspbrak must get the deed done.

            It wasn't even fully the young boy's fault, more so his family. They refused to fill an end of their bargain, unbeknownst to them that their son would be taken and killed if the organization wasn't given what they wanted. Long story short, the family didn't provide but the boy wasn't just taken out of the blue, that would've been too obvious. It had to be sneaky, unnoticeable. That's where Eddie comes in.

            They knew if they threatened a member of the family with execution, they'd have time to prepare. Call the police, enlist a protective service, move away to an unknown location, basically do anything to slip through their fingers in a flash. So Eddie went undercover, got close to the boy and gained his trust. That way, no one would suspect a close friend of the victim. It was full-proof. Eventually, the brown-haired boy had lured him to a place that couldn't be found by anyone, their secret spot in the woods that they swore not to tell a soul about.

            Eddie had managed to knock him out, and the men who worked alongside him had taken the boy to an off-charted site on the outskirts of town, a place where nobody wanted nor needed to go to. It was an abandoned wear-house, originally used for storage in an older version of Chicago with boarded up windows, barred fences and graffiti-covered walls.

            A perfect spot to not be seen.

            They beat the shit out of him of course, Eddie standing outside of the room, leaning against the crusted concrete wall with one sweaty hand crossed over the other to stop it from shaking, trying his damndest to keep his head high. It would only ever falter whenever he heard a grunt, hit or scream on the outside of the room, flinching each and every time. Obviously, he felt demeritorious, the kid being a year older than Eddie and all, but he couldn't show it. Emotions were an enemy in his 'field of work' according to his boss, and it blinded his overall goal. Eddie had learned to get used to the code, even though he didn't quite understand it.

            "Eds, you don't have to do this." The boy pleads. Eddie grits his teeth, the leather texture of the gun handle sinker deeper into his skin, certain to make a mark afterwards. He hates that nickname more than anything, it's as if its sole purpose is to make his stomach churn. No matter who it was, they'd always use 'Eds' to make it easier for themselves, like friends usually do. The only thing is, Eddie wasn't their friend, and even if he wants to be (which he desperately does), he can't. It creates an emotional connection that the brown-haired boy can't fathom.

            He doesn't respond, lips tightly closedto prevent himself from saying anything. He cocks the gun, causing it to echo through the hollow room, and pushes it so hard against the boy's forehead his head tilts back, a whimper escaping his quivering lips as if to say 'get it over with.' With little hesitation, he squeezes the trigger and the bullet travels from the gun to the boy's skull, creating a dime-sized hole and chunky blood splatter against a graffiti artwork that seems to spell 'GHAST.' His head jerks down, lifeless, probably cold to the touch but Eddie doesn't have time to care. Viscous red crimson oozes down his face, some of it dripping into his wide eyes, staring into a distance. Distressed, Eddie places the gun in his back pocket and takes a step back, displeased with his morbid artwork.

           "Bag him up. Make sure you aren't seen." Eddie instructs firmly, earning disorganized nods in response. Two of the men with significant muscles pressing through their tight black shirts  untie the deceased boy and drag him out of the room by his arms, one of them snorting when his leg hits the door frame. The brown-haired boy rolls his eyes, and runs a hand under his nose, sniffing away any signs of a sob-fest.

            Emotions are the enemy, he tells himself.

                   ▼▼▼

            Eddie kicks the corn on his plate back and forth with a fork in between his golden-skinned fingers, his head resting on his palm. It's not foreign when a feeling like this flourishes into his stomach but when it comes it's like a whole new package of feelings has been invited to his minuscule amount of it. He looks up at the dull cafeteria, hearing nothing but whispers of conversation from the different tables. The walls are painted a boring gray and nothing that makes it vibrant unless people are fond of faint blood stains that hold the history of this facility. Everyone is wearing the same faded black jumpsuit with pockets on the chest, hips and lower thigh area, including himself. Even the food is tastes tedious as if the only ingredients were dirt and plastic. This place is probably the hardest to get used to when you consider the fact that Eddie spent a full two months in a high school cafeteria where whispering is pretty much non-existent.

            Weirdly, Eddie kind of likes the heavy chatter. It makes the place feel more full and active, plus the things he hears are undeniably quite funny when he eavesdrops on certain conversations. Here, he feels out of place. He's the only person under eighteen here, aside from his only friend Mike Hanlon and he's a great company but he can't help but long for more. Can you blame him though? He's been in this business since he was thirteen after his mother died of diabetes (Eddie's father had died of cancer eight years before). The boss, Patrick Hockstetter, had taken him under his wing when Eddie was put into the foster system up in New York, taught him how to use a gun, explained how the organization would be passed down to him after his father died (who unexpectedly passed away a month after). Eddie basically owes his life to Patrick. But he'd kill for one chance to just have a normal life for once where he wasn't going into high school just to murder someone.

            "Can Edward Kaspbrak and Michael Hanlon report to Patrick." The P.A. states, making the boy sigh. Guess that wish isn't going to come true anytime soon.

            The boy pushes himself up and drags his feet out of the eating area. He walks past a hall of dorm rooms, narrowing his eyes straight in front of him while everything else stays a blur. It gets quite annoying to walk past the same shit every day, especially when it's already been a week in the same building on the edge of New York city, with the same beige walls and the same dorm rooms and numbers. He's not allowed to leave unless he's given an assignment which is probably the biggest thing he hates about this job.

            As he walks, his fellow friend, Mike joins alongside him after turning right. He was the only person Eddie could really talk to without feeling uncomfortable. They're the same age and they act like it unless something forces them to be otherwise but nine times out of ten, they can be themselves in front of each other.

            "What do you think it is this time?" Mike asks, placing his hands in his pockets. Eddie shrugs, still hung up on his recent assignment and wonders if what he does is the right thing. A flash of the boy's pleading and swollen eyes implant themselves into Eddie's mind, haunting him, telling him 'this is what you did and you can't turn back from it.' He shuts his eyes tight with a clenched fist, trying to replace it with the code and says it over and over again in his head, a mechanism he's learned ever since the traumatic thoughts and dreams started. The more he says it, the less the image pops up and slowly his fingers soften, leaving four red curved creases on the palm of his hand. It doesn't bother him though, he's used to seeing it.

            "I just hope it's an extraction job this time," Eddie mumbles, instinctively smoothing down his jumpsuit to get rid of the creases. Mike doesn't know he harms himself like that. If he did, the dark-skinned boy would talk him out of it and that trauma would never leave. No matter how much it hurts, he needs to do it. He needs to.

            Mike narrows his eyes down to Eddie's fidgeting fingers and automatically knows something's up. He doesn't push him about though, aware that he only just got back a while ago. Even Mike has had his fair share of traumatic experiences however the only thing he can do is tell himself it's part of the job.

            Eddie opens the wooden door at the end of the hall that's labelled 'OFFICE,' allowing Mike to walk in the first while he trails behind. A flaming stench burns down both boys' noses, witnessing the culprit seems to be a trail of smoke escaping their bosses lit cigarette. His office isn't state of the art or anything, it's a dull gray just like the cafeteria with a cabinet drawer in the corner and a window showcasing light spring rain from the outside world, a place Eddie desperately wants to run freely through. They stand in front of an aged wooden desk, chips along the edges and large gash right in the middle. It's clear to see the table has been through absolute shit.

            Patrick sits on the other end of it, his thick black hair pressed against the back of his computer chair, remnants of what used to be his beard on his chin, beady pitch black eyes, faint scars from his unfortunate past, and a black and white suit that definitely tells you he does not fuck around. He's definitely an intimidating person, but not because of his build or an abnormal scar that stood out from the rest. It's his smile. The way his thin lips curl up to create something that should be heart-warming instead just gives everyone shivers more than the winter solstice.

            The man drops two files on the table, skipping the meet and greet since he really couldn't care less about how they were or how their day went. Both parties pick up their respected files labelled as their full names, taking in the thickness of it, something they weren't used to. Eddie opens his own, the first page holding the picture of a kid who seems to be a few years younger than him. It's a school picture of a pale-skinned boy with waves of jet black hair falling lazily on his face, and a wild smile that showcased his bigger two front teeth. However, what really stood out however were the thick black frames over his eyes that made them larger than they probably are. The brown-haired boy's lips curled up for a short-lived smile, wondering if this kid could get any dorkier. One thing's for sure though, his freckles really seal that deal.

            His smile immediately falters. "Is this another undercover assignment?"

            Patrick nods, leaning forward in his seat. Eddie looks back down with timid eyes at the folder, trying to get rid of the thoughts of what this boy's personality is like. The date of the picture seemed to be taken three years ago based off the date so he probably doesn't even look or act the way Eddie thought he would anymore. He takes a deep breath and focuses on the task at hand, leaving his previous emotions in the gutter.

            "Derry," Mike says, playing with the word. "Never heard of it."

            "It's not on most maps," Patrick explains shortly. Eddie flips a page and sees a registration form for Derry High School. The name filled in is Eddie Hanlon-Kaspbrak, making him furrow his brows in confusion. Will Mike and him be step-brothers on this case?

            "Hanlon-Kaspbrak?" The boy questions.

            "Your parents divorced," Patrick points to Mike. "Your father died." He points to Eddie."Your father found his mother, got married seven months later, moved to Derry for fresh start a month after." He finishes, but Mike's mind throbs when he thinks about the feedback given to him when they see the difference between him and Eddie.

            "Won't people be confused as to why... y'know." Mike shifts between his toes, unable to look at his bosses eyes. He internally prays Patrick gets it and he does.

            "No one's gonna see your parents, because they aren't real. When people ask you why a negro would catch the attention of a white woman, you say 'who gives a fuck why?" He says, earning a shy nod in response. Eddie looks to his friend and places a hand on his shoulder, sending a small smile his way. It's always hard when race is brought into the conversation but Eddie, without saying anything, just helps with it so in turn, Mike smiles back.

            "Who are we and why are we targeting these people?" Eddie changes the subject, knowing the sensitivity with Mike and the previous conversation.

            "You've got Richie Tozier, Hanlon's got Stanley Uris. They're fathers had taken part in mine's arrest and took a good sum of money from my bank, saying it was stolen from them when I know for a fact it wasn't." Patrick explains, his hand clenching the chipped part of the wooden desk, unknowingly leaving another subtle but prominent slash.

            "Why the kids?" Mike asks, continuously flipping through the pages of his file. Most of the papers are pictures taken of Patrick's dad's arrest while two men and a group of officers stand in the background, a look of relief flashed upon their faces.

            "They're the ones who told the police." Patrick says, leaning back in his chair. The two nod, not bothering to think any further on it. Obviously, they thought it was a little cruel that the price they pay be a death penalty but they've gotten so used to it, it feels as bad as being sentenced with community service in court. Yeah, at the end of it, they feel the weight of it all but then they remind themselves of the code. Sure, it's a pretty weak excuse to dismiss murder but what else can they do?

            "Your base or 'house' is on the outskirts of Derry, a farm but no animals of course. Make sure no one goes near there, it's packed with firearms. My dad used it as a storage unit," Patrick explains. "You have a month to have them killed and get my money back, you got that?"

            "Yes sir," both boys nod.

            "You leave tomorrow." Patrick waves them off and the two leave without hesitation, files in hand. Once the door closes, Eddie's thoughts open like floodgates. He's getting tired of befriending people only to have their lives be in his hands while they beg for mercy. But he can't go against Patrick after all he's done plus it's a death sentence to defy the guy who has dozens of workers who only how to kill a human being.

            The only thing keeping Eddie by Patrick's side is fear and loyalty.


	2. Welcome to Derry

Eddie leans his head against the glass of the bus, his eyes quickly reading the passing sign that says '50 km to Derry.' The boy sighs and looks over to his friend sleeping on his shoulder, smiling at the way his cheek presses against his humerus. Mike had his own fair share of nightmares but the rare moments where he could sleep was next to Eddie and vice versa. He doesn't know how he'd survive in the facility without Mike by his side.

            He glances back at the neverending landscapes of trees, wondering what this school might be like. Eddie likes to compare the high schools and buildings he goes to and adds the characteristics of each of them to create this perfect fantasy of his own school. As of now, the cafeteria would be painted white with streaks of different coloured paints splattered across it like some abstract artwork (Like the school in South Dakota where he had to kidnap a sixteen-year old boy). The halls would be open and the ceilings would have sunroofs above it like a greenhouse would for constant sunlight (The same ones from his assignment in Vancouver where he killed a head-worker from a competing organization who threatened to kill Patrick). All of the classrooms would have cliche motivational postures hanged up (Just like his most recent assignment). It's weird but that's how he would like it.

            A voice over the PA snaps at the brown-haired boy out of his thoughts, waking up a surprised Mike as well.

            "We'll be arriving in Derry, Maine in twenty minutes. I repeat. We'll be arriving to Derry, Maine in twenty minutes." The scruffy voice says over the speaker. Eddie feels his stomach flutter the closer he gets, squirming to find a comfortable position in his confining seat. It's normal for him to feel this during an assignment, but he hates it every single time it comes up. He only hopes this time won't be as hard his previous target.

            "Is twenty minutes enough for a full nap?" Mike asks, half-joking. Eddie chuckles and pushes him off his shoulder, taking his head off the glass and running his fingers through his matted down hair.

            "I think you can stay awake," Eddie says, taking his file out of the carry-on bag in his lap. There was no way he was leaving it in the overhead storage, unable to trust himself enough to take it out, especially when a loaded Walther P99 sits in the small pouch of the bag.

             He looks over the school picture of Richie, taking in the overbearingly large glasses that looked like they could fall off his freckled face at any second. At a closer glance, Eddie notices the tape holding each half of the frame together, concluding that they're a special pair that he does want to let go of. It adds to the dork personality Eddie has conjured up in his mind. He tries to fight it but a small smile creeps up his lips and it doesn't go unnoticed by his friend.

            "You think he's cute?" Mike interjects, leaning in to get a better look at the photo. Eddie snaps his head to the dark-skinned boy, looking at him as if he's just been slapped and Mike raises an eyebrow to his reaction, confused as to why Eddie looks so offended. It's literally just a question. But cute is definitely not the first thing that comes to Eddie's mind when he looks at the photo. Dorky? Yes. Cute? No.

            "What? No! He just looks really... different from previous targets, y'know." Eddie didn't really know how to describe him other than dorky, but different seemed like the right way to go.

            "Well don't get used to that version of him. That was taken three years ago." Mike sighs, leaning back in his seat. The other boy does a small nod but a part of him prays he looks the same. He might not be able to take it if Richie looks different. It's unclear to him as to why he so drawn to this version of him but he does know that he can't accept anything that doesn't resemble this picture in front of him.

            To calm himself down, Eddie recalls the backstory Patrick had come up with inside his mind over and over to get it implanted. He's definitely not against the idea of an interracial couple but he knows if this was real, Eddie's mother would never even consider getting within five feet with a person of colour. It's a sad thought but that's just how she works. Eddie's glad he didn't turn out like her the more he thinks about it.

            "What does your guy look like?" Eddie asks, diverting the attention away from him and pushing away all mentions of his mother inside his fragile mind. Mike grunts, picking up his file from his one-strap backpack and opens it to reveal a golden-skinned boy with light brown curls and the faintest hint of a smile behind his straight face. Eddie then notices the small circular cap over his head with blue lining patterned inside of it.  _Jewish_ , he thinks.

            "He doesn't seem like a very ecstatic person," Eddie observes. He's definitely a change of pace and tone in comparison to Richie's school picture. It's so different to the point where it's pretty obvious that they probably wouldn't be friends and would instead be hanging out with completely different friend groups. That's usually how it is in high school.

            "Which means he'll be harder to crack." Mike groans, hitting his back against his seat and causing it to rattle the slightest bit. "Of course I get the hard one." Eddie raises an eyebrow.

            "And how do you know Richie's not the hard one?" Eddie questions, turning his torso to face his friend. Mike furrows his eyebrows as if the smaller boy's question is the dumbest thing that's ever escaped his lips, but he still doesn't understand it.

            "Eddie, I can practically hear him talking through the picture. He'll give you information without even knowing it." Mike explains, tapping Tozier's picture as he does so. Eddie yanks it away and puts it back in his file, closing it harshly. Richie probably wasn't that much of a talker. Yeah, his picture is pretty... loud but that's all it is; a picture. Eddie probably doesn't have that much to worry about.

            Eventually, a cracked and rippled sign comes into Eddie's eyesight. It's clearly an old sign that's probably been around since the beginning of this town but he can read it as clear as crystals. 'Welcome to Derry!' it says in bold cursive font over a woodland landscape which seems to be an accurate depiction of what the town looks like considering Eddie's seen nothing but trees. However, they slowly fade away as the bus gets further into town, passing by an old abandoned factory with noticeable signs of a fire that must've gone down there.  _Rich history_ , Eddie thinks.

            His curiosity of the town starts to grow.

▼▼▼

            Mike uses the keys he was given in the file to open the front door of their temporary house and swings it around his index finger after he takes it out. Eddie whistles when he opens the door to reveal a, surprisingly, nice looking home with lavender walls and bright coloured furniture that really seals the deal about the homely aroma.

            They walk further into the house, going into the kitchen where a briefcase sits on the black and white marble island. A sticky note is placed on top of it, catching Eddie's sight first as he walks towards it while Mike checks out the other rooms upstairs. He picks it up and plays with the sticky part of the paper, reading it over, only to find it's a series of numbers. The boy looks to the side of the case and no surprise, a combination sticks right against it, waiting to be open. Eddie follows the numbers and his lips twitch up into a small smile when he hears a click, opening the case to see it filled to the brink with ten dollar bills and another sticky note on top of it.

_Your allowance for a month and a half -P_

            "Mike!" Eddie calls, seeing as he's gone upstairs.

            "Yeah?" He says, emerging from the staircase. Eddie turns the briefcase in his friend's direction, making the boy's eyes widen at the amount of cash inside it. They've been given money for their assignments before, but it's only been enough to support one of them. Now that it's two, it means twice the money and both boys couldn't be happier. Nevertheless, it makes Eddie wonder why Patrick needs them to  _get_  money back when he has amounts like these just lying around. He'll always be a mystery to Eddie.

            "Pizza?" Mike suggest, causing the smaller boy to roll his eyes. They've only been on an assignment once before at fourteen (with less money for some reason) but even then, the first thing Mike wanted to do was spend the money on food. It's an instinctive thing to do, considering they were on a bus for hours on end but Eddie got annoyed when he brought it up nonetheless,

            "We have to get supplies for school?" Eddie crosses his arms in a matter-of-factly tone.

            "Our bags are packed for tomorrow already. They left it in our room." Mike smirks, his feet trailing towards the phone. Eddie looks at his friend incredulously, and walks upstairs to find two bedrooms with, surprisingly two JanSport backpacks filled with binders, notebooks and a pencil case that's been clearly stuffed until it couldn't handle anymore. Patrick must be really invested in this case, or he just had extra money lying around because Eddie would usually buy school supplies with the money he was given. He's not complaining but if he had this much money, he wouldn't be worrying about the money taken from him.

            "Get the phonebook, Mike!" Eddie yells, chuckling when he hears Mike's celebratory "yes!" in response. The brown-haired boy shakes his head and walks downstairs to witness his friend with the landline pressed to his ear, chuckling at his impatience.


	3. First Impressions pt 1.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mike and eddie meet derry high

Pushing the kickstand of his bike, Eddie's jittery hands lock the bike to the rack where a number of different coloured bicycles lie. He can feel his heart pounding in his ears, rubbing his hands against his corduroy jeans anxiously.

            First days are Eddie's definitive weakness. He doesn't necessarily hate them but it's so nerve-racking to see the close bonds between the people who have been here since the beginning of the school year. Adding on to that, everyone's going to be asking themselves why two students had decided to move three and half months before the end of senior year, so stares would be something both parties would have to grow to be accustomed to.

            Eddie's fingers find themselves tapping against the straps of his bag and looks over to Mike, still locking his bicycle with the same expression Eddie has. Usually, a person would think someone like them should have no fear facing something as common as the first day of school but no. It's actually even scarier.

            "We have to go to the office first?" Eddie questions, narrowing his eyes towards the front entrance where an array of kids went inside, carelessly bumping into each other. Hopefully, he can try to avoid that. Tight spaces aren't really Eddie's forte, if anything, he'll start to hyperventilate if he's in one for too long.

            "Yeah," Mike finally answers. The two give each other a questioning glance, both of them wondering whether they should go in or not. Eddie feels his stomach flutter at the thought of what the school might look like on the inside. Judging by its exterior, however, it probably won't be a state of the art school. He shrugs and his legs find themselves walking towards the doors of Derry High.

           They find their way through the crowd of students, shoulders brushing shoulders as the new kids find their way to the main office. It's like navigating your way through a jungle with this school, animals around every corner that make their sole intent to block your way out. Yeah, it was like that with the other schools Eddie and Mike had gone to but it was never this cramped.

            Finally, though, a light creeps through the never-ending vines and leaves and a sigh escapes both boys lips when they see a door labelled 'main office,' advancing towards it. But, as if on cue, another group of kids walk by, laughing like maniacs. The varsity jackets are enough to conclude this is a popular group of guys, especially with the way the girls are dressing that really seems to catch their attention. The boys continue on nonetheless, experiencing no more interceptions.

            A peppermint smell greets the two on the way in, witnessing the bowl of candy that seems to be the cause of it. 'Take one,' it says in thick black marker. Mike's fingers find their way inside the bowl and take out a candy patterned in a red and white swirl. He unwraps the plastic and pops the minty candy in his mouth, earning a look of disbelief from his counterpart. Mike only shrugs dismissively and follows Eddie to the front desk.

            "Excuse me," Eddie greets. A woman, middle-aged, blonde and scruffy, looks up with a crooked smile. Her hair is tied up in a bun, a few strands falling down her cheeks.

            "How may I help you?" She asks, crossing her arms over the folder she was previously looking at.

            "My brother and I are new here and we need our schedules." Eddie says, noticing the way the lady's smile faintly twitches down at the mention of 'brother'. Her eyes flick to Mike and back to Eddie, trying her best to maintain her same expression.

            "Of course. Can I see your registration forms?" She asks, trying her best to seem undisturbed. The two play along and hand her the forms, Mike retracting his hand faster than usual. She looks over it and checks her files before nodding and handing the boys their schedule with a forced smile.

            "Welcome to Derry High boys." She says, earning nods of thanks before turning towards the door. Mike lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding while Eddie lays a hand on his shoulder. He's not oblivious to discrimination but it feels like a punch to the gut whenever it happens. And kids are worse.

            "Just ignore her, Mike." Eddie bites his lip. He can't even imagine getting used to those subtle changes in appearance whenever something he did was out of the ordinary just because of his race. It's sick.

            "Can we just check our classes?" Mike shakes his head, dodging the subject. Eddie only shyly nods and brings his schedule up to his chest, the other boy doing the same.

           "I've got art first period," Mike announces. "How about you?"

           "English. You got biology next period?" Eddie sighs, leaning over to his friend's paper. Unfortunately, the only similarity between them is Spanish, after lunch. The only plus he gets out of that is the fact he knows a fair amount of the language because of an assignment based in Spain. It was an interesting trip, to say the least.

           "I guess I'll see you at lunch?" Mike sends a small smile, trailing away to his first-period class. Eddie gives a tiny wave and sighs, checking where his beginning class is.

           As if the world hates him, however, he crashes into another student, a blonde male, and drops his schedule. To make things worse, the boy doesn't apologize and instead replies with "Watch it."

           A giggle emerges after the accident, seemingly belonging to the boy's girlfriend. Her jet black hair frizzled and tied back into a high ponytail. The clothing they wear seems to be very stereotypical with his practically screaming jock and hers screams 'come and fuck me.' Eddie is utterly nauseated because she looks like she's thirteen. It's not like he's ashamed for observing her in such a way considering girls just never catch his eye and never will. But the way these girls choose to dress in this school is... fucking weird.


	4. First Impressions pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mike meets stanley

Tapping his foot, Mike looks around his art class, watching the way students talk to each other like bread goes with butter. He automatically feels out of place for more than one reason and it makes his stomach flip. His eyes lock to the door, observing careless students flying by to get to their respective classes and it makes him realize he could've spent a few more minutes with Eddie before running off. But at the same time, that boy likes to be punctual so he probably wouldn't let himself give Mike the time of day.

            A warning bell rings off through the PA, causing more students to shuffle in along with a boy who looks strikingly familiar. Mike's eyes narrow to the light-brown curls on the top of his head and the small cap on the back of it.  _Jewish_ , he concludes. It can't be a coincidence that this boy looks exactly like his target, he just looks significantly older now.

            Significantly.

            Mike had to remind himself that the picture he was given was dated three years ago, just like Richie's.

            The boy sits at the back of the class, shyly opening a soft-cover notebook and stroking his pencil inside of it. Mike watches the way he focuses intently on what he's doing as nothing else matters in the world. It's intriguing to watch, the dark-skinned boy can't lie.

            An awkward moment almost flourishes, however, when Stan looks up, under the impression he's being observed by someone else. Mike quickly snaps his head away from the boy, scratching his head awkwardly and trying to find something else more interesting so his blatant staring wasn't obvious. Luckily, the second bell rings out and all students turn their attention to the front of the classroom, giving Mike a ride out of tension town.

            "Hello, students! How was everyone's march break?" The female teacher with pale skin and brightening hazel eyes asks, earning only shrugs and murmurs in response. She lets out a fake scoff, crossing her arms at the lack of enthusiasm.  _What does she expect? We're teenagers_ , Mike thinks.

            "You guys had a week of sleep. How are you still tired?" She questions. Mike desperately wanted to tell her about the amount of running he did, tracking down a man who had taken a million dollars from Patrick's vault. There was a snake in the organization, using the same technique they made to steal or kill somebody else; going undercover. Mike was definitely impressed by that guy but he found him nonetheless and by Patrick's orders, he was buried six feet under in an uncharted location.

            "It wasn't enough!" A student exclaims, bringing Mike back to reality as a few other kids nod in agreement. The teacher rolls her eyes, flicking her auburn hair out of her face.

            "Well anyway, you're back now and you're going to have to live with it." She says, a faint smile creeping on her face. "Now, we'll be continuing our assignments from before the break. Remember they are due at the end of this week so get on that right now. And be productive because this is the only time I'm giving you in class for this."

            A series of shuffles is heard all around Mike, some students taking out their binders and others going to the back of the classroom where a cabinet of artworks sit. He plays with his fingers, mustering the courage to go up to the teacher and tell her about the situation. She isn't intimidating or anything but flashes of the conversation with the lady in the front desk haunt his mind and he doesn't want to go through the same thing again.

            Nonetheless, he can't just sit there and wait for nothing. He's supposed to blend in with everybody and they are all, surprisingly, all doing their work. Sighing, he reluctantly walks, thankfully not receiving any longing looks from the rest of the class since they seem to indulge in their work to notice or care.

            "Um excuse me?" Mike says, causing the teacher to look up with a smile that doesn't falter or twitch one bit. In turn, Mike smiles back.

            "You're new right? Sorry if you were hoping for an introduction, we don't really do those here." She replies, waving her hand with a look that says she's genuinely sorry.

            Mike shakes his head, chuckling. "No, no it's okay. I don't like those anyways. I just wanted to ask about the assignment."

            "Thank god. You're actually productive and ready to learn something." Her smile gets wider, the creases in her forehead expanding as well. Mike chuckles and decides that he likes this teacher because looks like she's actually fond of her job.

             "So, we're learning about primary and secondary colours and how much you can make with such a small amount. I expect you to get those notes from someone in the class, it doesn't matter who. And our assignment is to create an artwork that only uses the three primary colours which are—"

            "Blue, yellow and red," Mike answers, earning a nod in response.

            "You can use any medium but I recommend acrylic because the colours are easier to blend. However, if your best is something like pastel then go for it." She says with confidence. Mike gives a quick thank you and trails off for her name, the woman catching on quickly.

            "Ms. Harland," She responds with a smile that is growing to become a thing of hers. Mike walks back to his desk, concluding it's the perfect time to talk to, who he hopes is Stanley. It can't be anyone else, his resemblance to the school picture is almost uncanny.

            Mike takes the chance.

            He walks to the back of the classroom and taps the curly-haired boy's shoulder, causing him to look up. His shimmering brown eyes meet Mike's, an intimidating look flashed upon it. He can't blame him though, he's larger than most.

            "Uh hi," Mike awkwardly waves. "Ms. Harland said to ask a student for notes on this unit."

            "Oh uh," the boy stammers. He quickly snaps out of it and takes out a notebook that has clearly been used over the course of this semester. He hands it to Mike, fingertips brushing ever so quickly.

            "Thanks—"

            "Stanley, Uris." He says, a short-lived smile playing on his lips. Mike gives a small one back and starts to trail back to his desk before Stan calls him back.

            "Can you just sit here? I kinda need it." He calls, a hint of nervousness in his voice as if he's afraid Mike might say no. He turns around and responds with quick "sure," before quickly going to where he was previously sitting to retrieve his bag. This time he only catches the eye of one person staring but she diverts her attention away in a flash when she meets the dark-skinned boy's eyes. He tries to ignore it and plops his bag on the desk next to Stanley's, then opens the book to reveal a remarkably organized set of notes. On the side of it seems to a legend of colours. The blue pen is for the title, red is for headings, black is for subheadings and the highlighter is obviously for highlighting.

            It doesn't mean he's fully attentive during class though. There's a number of drawings on the edges of the pages and it grows as Mike goes along. Most of them consist of trees, soaring and sitting birds in excruciating detail.

            "Nice drawings." Mike compliments, stopping where the notes about this unit start. Stanley looks to Mike, forgetting about the mindless drawings he did when he was bored. It's not necessarily embarrassing but Stanley's cheeks heat up nonetheless. He decides to focus on the canvas in front of him, dipping his brush in the palette where the red paint sits and dabs it on his painting.

            "Thanks," he replies. Mike glances over at the shy boy to see he keeps his focus on his painting. A part of his head's saying it's a race thing and Stanley isn't used to seeing someone with chocolate skin, but Mike concludes that it's just himself being paranoid.

            "So why did you move here?" Stanley asks, eyes flicking to Mike every once in a while.

            "My family wanted a fresh start," Mike explains shortly. Stanley didn't need to hear the whole cover story even though Mike didn't mind telling it. It's the kind of thing that Mike feels is supposed to be personal until you can put your trust in that certain person.

            "Why did they choose here? This place is pretty shitty." Stanley asks, accomplishing a chuckle from the boy beside him. He looks to Mike a little more now, amazed at how calm he seems to be talking to another person who's a little closed off, especially for someone on their first day. He definitely needs a break from constant screams and jokes that aren't the least bit funny.

        "That's the same thing I asked them!" Mike exclaimed, taking his pencil to write down the notes like Stanley's own. Dismissively, he writes them just like how the curly-haired boys' is formatted, grabbing different coloured pens for the titles.

            "Well, we got three and a half months and we're home free," Stanley says, not noticing the way Mike's smile twitches down. In his mind, he thinks:  _Don't grow to be fond of the kid, you have one and half months to have killed._ ** _Killed._**

            "So I take it to you like birds, Stanley," Mike says, watching the way his delicate hands stroke the brush against the canvas. He's very precise.

            "What gave you that impression?" Stanley asks sarcastically. "And you can call me Stan."

            "Okay, Stan. I don't know, it's just the multiple doodles and the fact that you've decided to have your assignment be a soaring bird in the sky." Mike observes, pointing to the illustrations in his notebook and on his canvas. Stan chuckles, dipping into the yellow paint for the golden glow on the side of the bird's wing.

            "I like to bird watch after school. Picked up the hobby from my dad." He says, looking to Mike who now gives more attention to the conversation than the notes.

            "So you just look at birds for an hour?" Mike questions, his head flicking up to ask.

            "Yeah, then I'd write down their features and draw them in my book." Stan shrugs, dropping his brush down to his khaki-covered lap. Mike nods.

            "Sounds calming actually." He considers and it really does if you think about enjoying the chirping birds in the spring sun, watching them fly around and create nests. Mike kind of wants to try it out.

            "You're the first person to actually take interest in it." Stan raises his eyebrows, completely ignoring his painting now. Mike's still writing but not as much as he was before, too into the conversation. Stan just seems like a really interesting person and the dark-skinned boy can't help but want to know more. It's not every day you find a person into bird watching.


	5. First Impressions pt. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> eddie meets richie

Eddie's English class was quite boring and uneventful. The teacher didn't introduce him to the class, they took nothing but notes, and nobody talked. It was like taking part in a silent film for forty-five minutes. He couldn't be more bored if he tried.

                Luckily for him, it ended fairly quickly and he now finds himself walking into the science lab for biology, a fairly intriguing subject to Eddie. He's always been fascinated with how the human body works and the different systems that coexist inside it. Every time he went to another school, this is the course he excelled at and he was never ashamed to show it.

               He clutches his shiny new notebook against his chest and looks around for a free seat. Judging by the way people talk to each other, Eddie can clearly see which seats might be saved for another person, some people even taking the liberty to put their bag down on the seat next to them. His brown eyes trail over to a free lab desk next to a sleeping student, jet black curls covering their face. It's not ideal to sit next to a student like that but it's better than facing the awkward "I'm saving this for someone else," exchange.

              The small boy places his items on the desk quietly, careful not to wake up who he thinks is a boy. It kind of amazes him how the kid is able to fall asleep in such a minuscule time frame considering the bell to switch class rang five minutes ago. A bit of envy wells up in Eddie, wishing he could do the same instead of receiving traumatic flashbacks of his previous assignments. Sometimes it gets so bad, he just doesn't get sleep. He just stays up until the rising sun melts through the windows.

             A groan makes the boy snap his head to the sleeping stranger, sitting down slower when he sees him shift arms. At this point, he's regretting his decisions but unfortunately, the bell rings through the PA, signifying the commencement of the second period. Eddie sighs, glancing over to the boy who still has his head hidden in his hair and arms. He decides to just dismiss him and turns his full attention to the board in front of him.

            "Tozier. Head up." The male teacher says, walking into the classroom just on time. Eddie tenses and turns his head, watching the way the boy sitting next to him tilts his head up and shoots two finger guns along with a click of the tongue. It's painfully obvious who this is but Eddie almost denies it, noticing the absent glasses sitting on his face. Instead, his chocolate brown eyes and dusty freckles are on full display and it feels unnatural.

            The raven-haired boy looks to Eddie beside him, his face contorting into one of interest, observing the smaller male up and down. "You're new, right?"

            Eddie shifts uncomfortably at Richie's intense gaze but the latter doesn't notice nor care and decides to rest his head on the palm of his hand to wait for an answer. It's not that Richie's intimidating or anything despite the fact he towers over Eddie, he's actually pretty skinny and it takes away any kind of defensive shield Eddie would use if he turned out to be an aggressive person. His stare is what throws Eddie off, especially because it's not behind anything. He doesn't know why he has such an attachment to those glasses but after looking at them for so long, seeing Richie without them is like witnessing a human without skin.

            "I'm not going to kill you. Just asking." He says, detecting that he's not getting any type of response. Eddie's mind cringes at the irony of his words, his chocolate brown eyes looking over at the teacher who seems to be explaining cell reproduction judging by the diagrams on the board. Why is it so hard to talk to this kid?

            "Hey," Richie calls, making the smaller boy grit his teeth so hard he feels they might break. "Hey."

            "What?" Eddie finally says, earning no immediate reaction from the boy beside him. He just lifts his head from his palm and rests his hand over his arm, a small smile creeping on his lips.

            "So you can speak?" He questions, accomplishing an incredulous eye roll from the brown-haired boy. Looks like Mike was right about his assumptions. Eddie doesn't like when wrong, especially in a situation where the boy sitting next to him can't get the memo and shut the fuck up.

            "Of course I can," Eddie says begrudgingly, keeping a hard gaze on the teacher's diagram. If Richie wants attention, he isn't giving it to him.

            "Thought you were deaf or something." Richie leans in closer, too much for Eddie's liking and he wonders if anything based around the word 'personal' is in this boy's vocabulary. He tilts his head away, trying his damnedest to keep himself from decking the kid right in the face.

            "Do you mind?" Eddie abruptly asks, pushing against Richie's chest and unintentionally causing a rise on the boy's lips.

            "Wow new kid, I didn't think you went right for second base after meeting someone else." Richie teases, raising his hands as if to communicate he's taken by surprise. Eddie squints his eyes, retracting his hand swiftly and opening his notebook, something he should've done at the beginning of class.

            "Dude, I'm just messing with you." Richie chuckles, running his hand through his messy curls with a brightening smile that showcases the absence of his larger two front teeth. Eddie takes a small glance at the sight, his stomach tingling at yet another missing feature of his old picture. He's merely a shadow of his younger self now.

            "Whatever," Eddie mutters. He takes out a blue pen and labels the diagram, proceeding to take out his number two pencil and copy what's illustrated on the chalkboard. Seemingly he receives no more comments from the boy beside him but turns to see him staring directly his way. Eddie tries to comprehend what this kid's deal is though he just can't figure it out. Maybe no one's sat next to Richie before and he was the only one gullible enough to find his way to sit here. Maybe this just the way he acts with everyone and he had just decided to bother Eddie today. Maybe he's actually intrigued by the brown-haired boy and this is the only way he knows how to talk to people. Whatever it is, it's annoying.

            "What?"

            "What's your name?" Richie asks darkened eyes pleadings to know. Eddie raises an eyebrow, hovering his pencil over the page. Of course, he has to give him his name, but part of him doesn't want to just to spite him. Richie's been on his nerves since his mouth decided to open, he can have some fun as well.

            "Why do you want to know?" Eddie asks, a faint smile on his lips that widens furthermore when Richie's face drops.

            "I'm curious," he replies simply. Eddie rolls his eyes, trailing them back to the set of notes the teacher writes next to the diagram about the growth of cancer cells. He can't deny that Richie's an interesting character but it doesn't take away from the fact that he's still a tiring asshole.

            "Curiosity killed the cat," Eddie argues, sparing only small glances just to annoy him even further.

            "Satisfaction brought it back," Richie counters and slaps his hand over Eddie's notebook, basically demanding full attention. Eddie sighs and turns to face the boy's chocolate orbs, resting his forearm on the desk. "Eddie," he answers.

           Richie smiles, keeping silent for a moment, the first time in what felt like hours. He finally sticks out his hand and replies with "Richie," hoping the other boy gets the memo. Lucky for him, Eddie does and shakes the boy's hand, ignoring the small jitter in his stomach at the contact.

            "So Richie. Will you let me write down these notes?" Eddie questions, gesturing to the hand that still sits over his notebook. Richie smirks, keeping his eyes glued to the boy in front of him and slowly lifts his hand before putting it back next to him. The staring contest continues for a few more seconds until Eddie gives in and sets his focus on the lesson but a nagging question sits in the back of his mind and he wants to ask Richie about it.

            "Do you just not pay attention in class?" Eddie asks, trying to ignore the boy's tapping fingers against the softwood. In his peripheral vision, he sees the raven-haired boy snap his head towards him and once again, Eddie feels small under his gaze.

            "No, I do." He answers shortly.

            "Then why no notes?" Eddie gestures to the empty space in front of Richie's side of the desk. There's no notebook, or binders, or even worksheets. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're a slacker."

            Richie scoffs, "I'm doing better than you think, sweetheart."

            "First of all, don't call me sweetheart. Second of all, what's your average then?" Eddie challenges, dropping his pencil and facing the boy beside him. He leans back a little though when he sees how close they are, noses almost touching. A little too close for Eddie's liking but Richie doesn't seem to mind it.

            "Ninety-five," he grins. "What was yours?"

            Eddie smirks, "Ninety-six."

            "Touché." Richie nods, leaning back from where he was, impressed. Eddie holds a proud smile and continues to write, trying to hide the fact he desperately wants to keep talking to the boy beside him. It baffles him as to how he went from wanting to punch him in the face to actually being able to tolerate, despite the small desire to knock him out for being an annoying asshole.

            He guesses Richie just has that effect on him.


	6. Lunch With The Losers

            Asit echoes through the halls, the school bell alerts students that lunch has commenced and Eddie couldn't be more excited. Trigonometry wasn't as interesting as Biology but it wasn't boring either. All he could think of though was lunch because he was hungry as hell. It's pretty obvious that cafeteria food isn't the best thing to have, however, he's dying to eat literally anything at this point. And of course, there's seeing Richie again since he didn't manage to talk to anyone else in his classes after Biology. He had to get close the loudmouth anyway and, he'd deny it, but he kind of wants to talk to Richie more, not just for the assignment but in general.

            Eddie doesn't like to think about it for too long.

            He slings his bag over his left shoulder, holding his new math textbook in his right arm and follows the path the majority of students are taking to go to, where he hopes is the cafeteria. A part of him hopes Mike finds his way there easily as well, unsure of what his class before this was. He's not typically fond of cafeterias, the sound irritating him on levels you can't even understand. The library is more of a go-to for him. Man, that boy loves the library.

            Suddenly, a strong yet slim arm tugs Eddie into the next hallway, causing a small yelp to escape his lips. In return, the culprit chuckles at the childish sound and the smaller male's face contorts into one of annoyance.

            "Jesus, Richie!" He exclaims quietly as if he's nervous someone might find him pressed between the wall and Richie's body. He's too close for Eddie's preferring but at the same time, he couldn't ask him to back away because it would create awkwardness and he wants to avoid anything related to that.

            "You scream like a girl, y'know?" Richie laughs, earning an eye roll in response.

            "Well, it's not like I was yanked by a stranger into another hallway." Eddie replies sarcastically, gesturing to the almost deserted hallway. If anything, he'd rather just ditch the boy and go to the cafeteria. He's that hungry.

            "Hey, we aren't strangers anymore. We're friends now."

            "That's an accomplishment to you?" Eddie questions, getting no immediate reaction from the boy in front of him until he raises an eyebrow.

            "Making new friends isn't an accomplishment?" Richie counters.

_Not really, no,_ Eddie thinks but keeps his thoughts in check. Richie doesn't need to know such things like that nor would Eddie think he needs to hear it.

            "I guess it is, I don't really make a lot of friends." Eddie says, really realizing the weight of his words. He really doesn't make a lot of friends, it's only Mike he considers one. The boy has been surrounded by older figures his whole life, with the only exception being an assignment and even so, he never gets enough time to really plant himself into the system. Hell, he barely has two months to put a bullet in Richie's head and take Patrick's money back.

            "Eds, that's so sad it made me feel something." Richie half-teases, clutching his heart as if he's in pain but immediately stops when Eddie abruptly shuts his eyes.

            "Don't call me that." He snaps, voice deep and worrying. A sharp pain flourishes in his palms as he digs into it, ignoring the skin's plea for him to stop before he breaks it.

            Richie notices the tense in his words, eyes narrowing to the clenched fist hiding by his thighs. He brushes it off, knowing it's not something  _he_ wants nor needs to hear the backstory behind. "Okay man."

            The taller boy throws a comforting arm around Eddie, making his fingers soften almost immediately. The tips of them brush over the new creases that sit right above the old ones, water pricking his eyes but not finding the courage to run down his freckled cheeks.

            Usually his targets would call him that titular nickname a few weeks after they got acquainted with each other and of course it would hurt a little but he understood it's what friends who knew each other after certain time frame did. With Richie, he decides to use it right from the get go and Eddie can't help but be offended. The raven-haired boy doesn't even realize how much it affects him but Eddie can't blame him, he only just met the kid.

            "Sorry, it's just... my dad used to call me that." Eddie lies, scratching the back of his head as Richie squeezes his shoulder apologetically.

            "He's not around anymore?" He questions, his curls bouncing when he turns to look at Eddie. The latter nods and looks down in fake sadness considering he didn't really know his father. Of course, he misses him but the memory slowly diminishes each day and Eddie just lets it happen. Why keep the pain when you can just forget?

            "Weel laddie, that must beh touf but the best thing we can duh is moove on." Richie says in a surprisingly well Irish accent. So well in fact, Eddie lets out a small chuckle in response, not noticing the way Richie smiles at the sound of it.

            "You got a nice laugh, kiddo" Richie smiles, ruffling the smaller boy's brown locks like a dad would to their son. However, Eddie's not amused, doing his best to return it to its original state.

            "Do you know how long it took me to do my hair?" Eddie whines, letting Richie have the honour of rolling his eyes for the first time. He doesn't stay annoyed though, finding the way Eddie reacts to the littlest thing undeniably adorable.

            "C'mon, we're going outside." Richie says, leading him toward the west entrance, next to the cafeteria.

            Eddie's face drops, looking up to meet Richie's chocolate eyes, trying to see if he's serious. It's upsetting to see his assumptions were incorrect, thinking that Richie's the kind of person to go to the most crowded place in school and annoy the hell out of everyone but apparently, that's not the case.

            "What about the cafeteria?" Eddie asks innocently.

            _"What about the cafeteria?"_ Richie shrugs, pushing the doors open to let in a fresh spring breeze that urges the hairs on both boy's bodies to stand up. Multiple wooden picnic tables are set up around the plain field, different groups of kids sitting and talking amongst themselves. Richie seems to lead Eddie to a particular group of kids around an aged wooden picnic table that stands out from the rest in many different respects, such as the way it slants ever-so-slightly, the faded burgundy colour, the smaller size. It's like a misfit picnic table. What stands out to Eddie, however, is the dark-skinned teen sitting at the edge of it.

            "It's too crowded and fake. Out here, I can breathe," Richie continues and takes in an exaggerated breath, snapping Eddie back to his direction.

            He raises an eyebrow then chuckles, swiping Richie's arm off his shoulder and walks towards his fake brother, the other boy catching sight of him and standing up. Mike gives Eddie a knowing look, able to communicate everything he needs to by the look in his eyes.  _Stan is friends with Richie_ , they say but it's a statement and a question at the same time.

            Stan had told him about his friends after finding out that the two had next period together as well, Literature. He had briefly mentioned their names, one of them specifically catching Mike's attention. He didn't know why he dismissed the idea of them being friends before. If they both told the police about Patrick's allegations, it couldn't be a coincidence that they both confessed at the same time. The two being close friends made much more sense in Mike's and Eddie's eyes now.

            It was probably the personality differences that threw both boys off. Richie seems to be very loud and obnoxious, and only a special type of person or people would be able to keep up with him. Stanley seems to be closed off and quiet, someone who only speaks when he needs to and likes to be left alone. They're basically polar opposites.

            Maybe opposites do attract.

            "Hey Mike," Eddie says and earns a head nod in return. Richie looks between the two in curiosity, raising an eyebrow.

            "You two know each other?" He questions, taking an unconscious step towards Eddie.

            "He's my brother." Mike states, noticing the way Richie's tense shoulders soften. He doesn't go into it but he sets an unintended intimidating gaze on the dark-haired boy's body, going into protective mode. Richie doesn't notice this.

            "Gnarly." Richie nods and wraps an arm around Mike as they walk back to the table. His eyes widen at Richie's forwardness but decides to go along with it. He hasn't offended him or anything, hell he touched him without gagging or making some cheeky remark.

            "So why'd you pick this shithole?" Richie asks, flicking his curls out of his face.

            "Our parents wanted a fresh start." Eddie answers simply, shrugging as he clutches his textbook close to his chest. The trio make it to the table where four other teens pile around. Stan's the only one the two are familiarized with while the other three are complete strangers.

            It's obvious two of the three are a couple. By the way they sit next to each other, her right hand over his as they indulge themselves in a novel that's probably for school or something along the lines of it. The girl's head leans against the boy's, her fiery red hair mixing with his dirty blonde locks. Eddie would be lying if he denied they looked cute.

            The other boy has his attention fully focused on the sketchbook in front of him, drawing the outlines of what seems to be a small boy who remarkably resembles him. Perhaps a younger version of himself, a look into who he once was as a child. It's painfully intricate, the sandy brown-haired boy's hand catching every crease, scar and hair on the face, his blue eyes not daring to look away.

            "Hello, gentlemen." Richie greets, earning a glare from the lone girl of the group. "—and lady." He adds on.

           "Richie, and... new kid?" The male half of the couple says, noticing the new face that Richie has brought upon them. The girl, blue-eyed boy and Stanley are alerted to his presence as well, small smiles that keep away any sort of jitters that threatened to manifest themselves in Eddie's body.

            "Hi," Eddie waves shyly.

            "This right here, is Edward." Richie smiles, resting two hands on Eddie's shoulders. The smaller male shrugs them off and hits Richie on the arm, though it doesn't affect him one bit.

            "Eddie! My name is Eddie." He turns around, finding an amused smile on the redhead's face. The boy recognizes her as the girl who sat in the back row of his American History class, a little more closed off there than she was here. Here, she seems more comfortable and relaxed, probably because she knows everyone at the table.

            "Beverly," she announces before going back to the novel. Her boyfriend keeps his head up, brown eyes welcoming Eddie just by the way he looks at him. "Ben," he says.

            "Bill." The boy indulged in his drawing raises his hand, eyes glued to the paper. Stan rolls his eyes and snatches the sketchbook, widening Bill's eyes in shock. He looks to his curly-haired friend who gestures to Eddie with a disappointing dad look. Bill soon realizes his mistake and looks Eddie in the eyes, a small apologetic smile on his lips.

            "Sorry, I've be-buh-been wanting to finish sketching that for a while now," Bill says.

           Eddie tries to ignore the way he stutters and replies with: "It's okay."

            "Stanley, but you can call me Stan." The golden-skinned boy smiles, getting one in return as Eddie sits on the other side of him while Richie sits in between him and the couple. Mike goes to the other side, next to Stan at the edge of the table causing him to make space for the dark-skinned boy since the table is pretty small.

            "So why do you guys sit out here?" Eddie asks, earning incredulous looks from the five teens that sit in front and next to him.

            "The cafeteria is the Thunderdome." Beverly states, a nod coming from her boyfriend next to her.

            "And Richie doesn't like seeing his sister," Ben adds on.

            Richie rolls his eyes, looking at Ben as if to communicate: 'Why'd you bring her up?' The boy shrugs and goes back to his novel, leaning his head onto Beverly's. Eddie, on the other hand, leans over to get Richie's attention, amused.

            "You have a sister?" Eddie questions, causing Richie to look to his direction, detest resting on his features. It's obvious to tell he's not a big fan of his younger sibling, all Eddie wants to know is why.

            "Sadly," Richie sighs and leans back to straighten out his spine.

            "She's a bitch," Stanley says as he looks down at his journal. The six look at him expectantly, wondering where the sudden outburst flourished from. The boy looks up, confused by the silence to see the pairs of his eyes directing themselves his way. Even Mike is surprised to witness this, getting no recollection of these snappy remarks before.

           "Just sayin." Stan rebuttals, hiding in his journal. The group removes their stares from the Jewish boy and continue what their doing, while their ears stay open for the conversation.

           "She hangs out with the popular kids even though they're a year older than her. I honestly don't know what happened to her, nor do I care. She can do whatever the fuck she wants." Richie explains but Eddie detects the faintest fib in voice, something he's not surprised about. Everybody still cares about someone close to them, no matter how much they don't want to admit it.

           "Speaking of doing. I hear she's with Preston now." Beverly interjects, catching Richie's attention almost immediately. Looks like that facade faded away faster than Eddie had expected.

            "Preston Hiltz?" Richie asks for clarification.

            "I heard that t-t-too." Bill nods, still not looking up from sketch.

            Eddie notices the way Richie fights the urge to bolt right out of this table, his fingers gripping the edge of the wood like a lifeline. Eddie can sense he wants to confront his sister but it seems as if his reputation as being a carefree boy is preventing him from doing that. If a guy Eddie didn't like was dating a sibling of his, he would watch that boy as a hawk does to a mouse. Why is Richie reluctant to do the same?

            "That guy's a prick." Richie says, gritting his teeth but his fingers soon relax on the table.

            "They're all pricks, Tozier." Beverly comments and Richie immediately sees the context behind her words. Whoever his sister chooses will be an asshole because they're all in the same friend group, also adding the fact she had horrible taste in guys. He just wishes she could go back to how she once was. When she didn't care about the latest hairstyle trends or what to wear that would appeal to all the guys. When she hung out with her two best friends before she ditched them for the shallow juniors who treat her like their very own bitch. It's disgusting.

            "Whatever," Richie shakes his head. "So Eddie, Mike. Where'd you guys come from?"

            Eddie already senses the abrupt change in topic but knows sensitivity when he sees it. It's something he relates to every day, hiding the way he really feels about certain situations. Again, not healthy but helps with pain which, in his opinion, is better.

            "New York City," Mike answers, earning a whistle from Richie in response. He changes his position to resting his head on the palms of his hands propped up by his elbows, unfazed by the wood pricking into his pale skin.

            "I've always wanted to go there." Stan says, deciding to take part in the conversation which is a rare but an interesting occasion.

            "You lived in those tall condos, yeah? With large ass windows, passing taxis, and those gigantic open spaces?" Richie questions, his inquiring brown eyes bouncing between both boys.

_No._

            "Yeah," the two answer.

            "Cool," Richie beams in awe.

            The two boys share knowing glances, small shrugs coming out of it. They never really took the chance to delve deep into how their backstory was like but it was safe to say they knew the same answers would be said. It's just that strong of a bond.

            "That's where I wanna go. New York." Richie wonders aloud, his gaze looking into a distance. "After graduation, I'm buying a one-way ticket and never looking back."

            Eddie looks down to his fidgeting fingers, watching the way sweat builds up inside it at the hearing of Richie's sentence.  _After graduation_ , he wants to leave Derry.  _After graduation_ , he wants to go to New York. But Eddie knows that's not what's happening and it hurts.

            The nails of his fingers find their way to the palms of his hands, digging into where they previously creased. He's not trying to draw blood but if the pain doesn't go away soon, he might call for desperate measures.

            "Eddie?" Beverly's voice snaps him out of stabbing his palms, once again resting normally before he places them on his lap, refusing to let them be seen in front of human eyes, especially not Mike or Richie's.

            "Yeah?" He questions, acting oblivious.

           "You just seemed dazed. You good?" She asks.

            Eddie puts on his best fake smile. "I'm  _fine_."


	7. Troubled Households

Sprawled across the couch with a bowl of popcorn sitting on the coffee table in front of him and watching new episodes of Full House is Richie's idea of the perfect after-school activity. It's the first thing he does right when he steps foot into his home, backpack thrown into the closet, shoes on the rack by the door and a packet of microwave popcorn waiting in the kitchen cabinet to be popped. Perfect.

            But of course, Rosie always ruins it.

            The two siblings never walked home together, considering he had his friends and she had hers. Richie always got home earlier because he didn't like spending more than one second in Derry High after the bell rang but Rosie would take a good five minutes to speak to one person before moving on to the next like clockwork. It came with being in such a popular group of people, everyone wanted to talk to you and Rosie loved the attention.

            The click of the door snaps Richie's head to it, revealing his little sister in some rather unappealing clothing. His brows lower at the excessive skin, observing the faint scars of her childhood scattered around her body. She used to be active if you can believe it. Her thing was sports, especially the ones where tackling was considered 'okay,' in the coach's book.

            Richie remembers attending her soccer and lacrosse games when she was halfway through sixth-grade, giving his full support (He went so far as to make a #1 fan shirt to embarrass her) to make sure she could hear him every time. It was a simpler time when the two were joined at the hip, only in separation because of their classes considering the two-year age gap.

            Unfortunately, time went on and Rosie became distant, losing her interests in sports when she was introduced to the world of makeup and boys. That's when the talking-back and sneaking out started, the hickeys on her neck getting harder to hide. Richie, regrettably, didn't stop it at all. It was mostly just silent stares whenever they sat at dinner in her 'parent-pleasing' clothes and innocent smile when their parents asked how school was.

            That's the thing, she acted like a saint in front of Wentworth and Maggie and they treated her as so, oblivious to what she did or wore at school. It made sense however, Richie knew they wanted a girl and were disappointed when he appeared instead. He realized it at five, when he came home with a bruise on his clavicle (a result of a rock thrown at him from an angry bully after Richie called him a "piece of trash with black hair") and his parents could only focus on which dress Rosie should wear for the first day of pre-school (she actually hated dresses as a child).

            Richie got used to the lack of attention as time went on, doing his best to get it from other sources like his friends, and now, Eddie, a new interest for Richie. That didn't stop him from his looks of surprise towards his sister, however.

            "What the fuck are you wearing?" Richie asks, squinting his eyes to see if it was actually his sister standing in front of him. A junior varsity jacket covers the tight purple tank top she wears under, sinking low enough to show significant cleavage while her black mini skirt drags up her skinny thighs with every step she takes. It's quite a shocking sight, considering that's not at all how she went to school.

            She had a long sleeve white shirt and baggy jeans when she left, Richie distinctly remembers that. However, he also remembers her running right into the bathroom before she went to class so who knows.

            Rosie stops walking and stares him down, trying to comprehend when Richie decided to give a fuck. He's never really commented on her style, mainly because she didn't think he cared, but at the same time, she was always able to change back into her other clothes before she got home. Even so, it's not like she's drastically changed outfits.

            "Clothes?" She answers matter-of-factly, gesturing to her outfit. Richie looks her up and down, unable to see how what she's wearing qualifies as 'clothes.'

            "Who's jacket is that?" He questions, the answer floating through his mind already. He just wants to hear her say it.

            "It's John's." She shrugs, gripping the jacket and pulling it closer to her to hide what's under.

            "I heard you broke up with John," He says smugly as he throws one lone popcorn into his mouth.

            "What—"

             "Isn't it Preston now?" He raises an eyebrow. "Preston Hiltz."

            Rosie runs her fingers down her frizzy ponytail as her weight shifts between her toes. It's not like she was secretive with her new relationship but she didn't want to be so open with it yet, especially because of now.

            "Who told you about it?"

            "Beverly did—"

            Rosie rolls her eyes, "That slut."

            "Shut the fuck up," Richie snaps. It's not particularly nice to hear her vocabulary consists of such vile and repulsive words.

            "What? She's kissed every one of your friends, and you."

            That's not completely true. She hasn't kissed Stan but that's really it. Beverly had dated Bill before Ben but they had broken it off at thirteen when she moved away. Bill was heartbroken of course but he eventually got over it and her, then by the time she came back, Bill's feelings had blown away like a stray newspaper. Obviously, she's dating Ben now so they kiss all the time, and the only reason she kissed Richie was because they were drunk off her father's beers and got caught in the moment. Nothing happened after that, plus it wasn't some big scandal or anything, Richie's kissed Bill before (Out of pure experiment when they were eleven. That was when Richie found he was bisexual as well).

            "That doesn't make her a slut—" Richie shakes his head in frustration. "Can you not change the topic?"

            "Why do you even care?" Rosie asks, walking over to the kitchen and grabbing a bottled water from the fridge, something she's been drinking a lot more now.

            "I don't. I just don't want to say I'm associated with someone who looks like she fucks four guys a week." Richie says, causing the younger girl to look at him in offence. It's obvious they don't get along anymore, the thinnest of minds could see the detest in their eyes. Someone who's known them since birth would assume they're a different set of siblings if they saw them now.

            "So  _you_ can slut-shame now?" She raises an eyebrow and takes a gulp of water. "It's a free country, I can wear what I want. If people stare they stare, it's not my problem."

             Richie sighs, unable to control what comes out of his mouth next. "But it's my problem."

            Rosie looks at her brother for a second, taking another sip of her water as well as his words. She can't help but refuse to see that he actually cares and doesn't like her doing things that draw too much attention to her. She groans and lets out a small "whatever," before trudging up the stairs in hopes her parents won't catch her in such an outfit.

            Richie rolls his eyes, wondering if the remnants of her past self remain in her body because the new attitude is getting annoying. Yeah his family was known for being a rather... an opinionated group of people but her change in character came so abruptly, Richie swears he almost got whiplash.

            He sighs and turns the volume up on the television, his fingers clawing to reach a handful of popcorn, stuffing it in his mouth.

▼▼▼

            A series of thoughts cloud Stanley's mind as he walks home, preventing him from thinking straight and almost missing his household. It was quite annoying when stuff like this entered his mind and refused to leave because they just bothered him wherever he went like a tick on a dog's back.

            Flashes of chocolate skin and a smile that seemed to outshine the sun danced around his brain, never seeming to stop. He had a lot of questions for the new kid, especially why he and his step-brother decided to move three months before graduation. It seemed like such an odd move but what was he to question? Odd is basically intertwined with Derry, Maine, maybe that's why they moved here.

            Still, he couldn't comprehend why Mike stayed in his mind even after school ended. Flowers were blooming more and more every day, clouds became more common in the blue sky, school work was getting scarce and harder to complete but it was that Hanlon-Kaspbrak boy that his mind decided to focus on.

            He walks past his perfectly detailed garden, a project he helped his mother in doing that took three weeks to complete. He always proudly walks passed it, knowing he made it better. Walking up the steps, Stanley takes out his house key and unlocks the door, making note of his father's car in the driveway.

            Stanley carefully places his shoes where an array of them are organized, nudging the right one a little when he sees it's a little off. He smooths down his shirt and walks upstairs, praying he won't catch his father's attention from his office.

              A creak emerges as the Uris boy takes his third step, cringing at the sound of it and unfortunately catching the attention of the eldest Uris in his private office.

             "Stanley?" A deep booming voice says, echoing through the house and filling the young boy's stomach with anxiousness.

            "Yes, Father?"

            Silence.

            Stan sighs and goes back down the three steps, making his way to his father's personal space. Butterflies caress their wings across the lining of his body, suddenly feeling the need to eat or run away, anything that'll distance himself from his father.

            "Yes?" He asks, peeking his head through the glass to see his father focusing intently on the work in front of him.

            "Stand up straight," Donald Uris instructs, not even looking at his son to know if he is doing so. The boy complies nonetheless and smooths down his shirt once again despite the minuscule amount of wrinkles on it.

            "How was school?"

              _Easy question_ , Stan thinks and answers easily. "It was fine, sir."

            The man grunts as he rearranges a file, refusing to spare the boy in front of him a glance, accomplishing to make the air thick with awkwardness. Stan shifts between his toes, trying to find something to admire but his eyes can't seem to fixate themselves on anything. Instead, he thinks of the friends he made, calming himself down just a little.

            "I'm letting you know that I'll be going to the bank today to check out my history. Don't want to be seeing another mishap in my withdrawals. You'll be home alone for an hour and I expect you have your homework and chores back before I get back. Only then are you allowed to go out to bird watch. Are we clear?" Donald explains, earning an unorganized nod from his son. It doesn't satisfy him enough however, unable to spare at least one glance Stan's way.

            "I said, are we clear?" He repeats, allowing Stan to realize his mistake.

            "Yes sir," he says firmly. His father waves him off, giving him the permission to leave which unofficial grants him to take a breather. It feels like he's in a water tank when he's with his father, trying his damnedest to hold his breath for so long, he could pass out. He's used to it after doing it for so long but for once, he wants a change of pace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imma double update today because I just finished my first exam and I'm so happy.


	8. Creeping Past

_Happy_ _was a foreign emotion in Eddie's body. He never had the time to be content, having to suck it up and move on. Of course, with a job like his, it was expected and he's learned to live with it to an extent but there's something different about this assignment. The boy brushed it off at first, concluding it was something that would disappear on its own, however that didn't appear to be the case. Looking back on it now as he sits solemnly on his love seat couch, Eddie wishes he'd never let it happen._

_Can you blame him though? A series of feelings open like floodgates and he takes it in as if it were a drug. He never knew smiling was something he could do more than once until now. It's like happiness is always there when he's with him. When he's with Dylan._

_A knock on the door snaps Eddie out of his thoughts, turning the volume down on his episode of Family Matters, grunting out of his laying-down position and trudging through the halls of his two-story suburban home in north Chicago. He had three more weeks to finish this particular assignment but he made a terrible mistake and it affected the whole operation._

_He caught feelings for his target._

_He didn't mean to nor did he plan to do so. It just kind of happened. Dylan's always been so nice to him and makes him feel safe in most dire situations. Eddie never really had that back in the facility with the exception of Mike but they could never think of each other as anything more than brothers._

_It didn't help that it was almost painfully obvious Dylan liked him back. If it wasn't for the constant glances, him constantly tripping over his words, insisting to pay for everything Eddie bought and the fact they've almost kissed before until they were interrupted by the boy's mother knocking on his bedroom door, Eddie would think otherwise._

_Another knock flourishes from the front door, making Eddie walk faster toward it. He prays it's not Dylan, knowing he won't be able to resist himself around him especially since they haven't talked about that almost-kiss._

_His hand hovers over the doorknob, closing his eyes and praying to whoever can hear him. The heartbeat in his chest reaches up to his ears, filling the silence in his hollow home. His 'parents' weren't here of course but he wishes they were real as of now, that way, he could stop himself from doing stupid. Nonetheless, he takes the chance and opens the door, regretting it immediately as he slumps against the door._

_In front of him stands the boy with sandy brown curls, hazel green eyes and the biggest teal sweater, amplifying his adorable look since he's so small under it,  around the same height as Eddie but Eddie's no tall person so think on that._

_"Hey," Dylan greets awkwardly and scratches the back of his neck, unapologetically showing how much he's been thinking of a few days ago. Eddie hangs onto the door like a lifeline, desperately wanting to close_ _it_ _but also wanting to yank the other boy inside and kiss him senseless. He really hates how his brain works._

_"Hi," Eddie says, tapping his index against the edge of the door. He can't make his nervousness_ _any_ _less_ _obvious._

_"Can I come in?" Dylan points towards the indoors, wrapping an arm around his waist. Eddie noticed it was something he did when he felt the urge to speak out about something. He does it whenever he wan_ _ts_ _to answer a question in class, he does it when Eddie can catch him lying about something, he did it before they almost kissed._

_Fuck, he wants to talk about it._

_"Sure," Eddie sighs and makes way for the slightly shorter boy to walk in. If only he could hear the rapid heartbeat in Eddie's chest like booming war drums._

_Eddie closes the door, lingering on it before walking into the living room where Dylan sits with his fingers buried under his thighs. The other boy sighs and leans on the kitchen door frame, his mind conflicted between sitting next to him or keeping his distance._

_"Do you want water or something?" Eddie asks, considering he should at least be a nice host. Dylan shakes his head, however, biting his lip and Eddie's stomach flips._ _He never thought it was true that after you admit you like someone, they become more attractive but Dylan's changing his mind._

_Silence emerges, both boys having no idea what to say. Eddie desperately wants to be closer to him but he knows he won't be able to contain his actions if he does. However, he has a feeling Dylan wants him to be closer as well. Now all he thinks is: why did he let it get this far?_

_Eddie can't even pinpoint when this started, the last two months went by in a blur, filled with the two hanging basically every second of every day. Maybe it was inevitable but at the same time, it's never happened before with any previous targets. He can't even blame Dylan for it, he has no idea what's going on and Eddie would like it to stay that way. Plus, he's meeting the same fate as everyone else, not much is changing and sadly Eddie's making it stay that way, no matter what his feelings are_ _._

_"I'm sorry," Dylan says, causing Eddie's head to rise and face the nervous boy._

_"Why_ _—What are you sorry for_ _?"_

_Dylan turns to face the brown-haired boy with an incredulous expression. His hard stare burns into Eddie's skin who keeps his heels against the wall so he doesn't get the urge to walk over to him._

_"It's all awkward because of a few days ago and we haven't really talked since. It's my fault too because I'm pretty sure I leaned in first, maybe, I don't know but I did something. And now you're standing on the opposite of the room because you're too afraid to come near me. I_ _just_ _don't want whatever happened to change anything but it seems it already has judging by this distance." Dylan says, gesturing wildly. Eddie raises his eyebrows at the sudden passion in his outburst but understands it completely._

_He didn't mean for it to get awkward either but what else could he do. That moment was a hard stop for him, he needed to look at the picture being painted in front of him. If he got too attached, he'd refuse to finish the mission and receive the most painful of consequences from Patrick. Yeah, it's a selfish thought but like Patrick said: "The only person you can trust is yourself." He couldn't let this be awkward for too long and break contact with his target, that'd be too risky._

_He pushes his back off the doorway of the kitchen and walks towards the couch, sitting next to the hysterical boy. He senses the fear behind Dylan's hazel green eyes and sends him a reassuring smile, folding his hands and setting them on his lap._

_"I'm not afraid to be near you. I just—I don't want to build something that's not there." Eddie says and shrugs, hoping he gets the memo. He really can't have this nor can he lead the poor boy on._

_"But I thought something was there. That's the thing," he says rather softly. Eddie figures he should play into the act, both fake and real emotions taking over his body as his two fingers lift the other boy's chin up._

_"Do you want there to be?"_

_Dylan blinks._

_"I don't know if I make this obvious but I really like you. And you may deny it but I think you like me too." His eyes trail down as he fiddles with his fingers. "But you might not."_

_"I do," Eddie says. Dylan snaps his eyes up, gulping down the fear of rejection into his throat. "I like you too."_

_Eddie knows he shouldn't, the real emotions gradually taking over, but he takes his hand anyway despite his brain's constant shouts to stop. Flashes of Patrick and the words 'emotions are the enemy' try to cloud his thoughts but those hazel green eyes top everything._

_"Really?" Dylan asks innocently, mustering the courage meeting Eddie's eyes. He unconsciously moves in closer, scaring and exciting the brown-eyed boy at the same time._

_Eddie's hand reaches for the boy's cheek as he leans into it, forgetting to resist himself. However, he can't anymore, they're too close now to turn back, something he forgot he was trying to avoid and now, he completely understands it. "Yeah."_

_And Eddie kisses him._

_Immediately, he pulls him closer, craving more as his previous thoughts wash away like they were never there in the first place. Dylan's hands find their way around Eddie's waist, gripping the sides of his shirt tightly. They couldn't_ _s_ _top even if they wanted to._

_Eddie slides his hand to the back of the boy's neck, pushing the kiss even further. He licks his bottom lip, earning a gasp from the sandy brown-haired boy, allowing Eddie to slip his tongue in._

_Something feels off however, the taste of it. Eddie's kissed other people before but never once has he tasted something so... iron._

_His thoughts are cut off when Dylan lifts his leg over Eddie's legs, straddling his lap. A moan escapes the boy's lips but he still tastes that iron and it's distracting. He feels this thickness on his tongue as he explores the other boy's mouth, like liquid. He does his best to ignore it, however, concluding it's just paranoia and slips his hand under Dylan's sweater, guiding his hand across his lower abdomen, accomplishing an innocent whimper out of him._

_It gets worse however when he feels a series of bumps around his stomach and what feels to be a cracked rib as if they were brutally beaten into. He decides to break the kiss and ask because something feels... wrong but as soon as he does, Dylan takes the opportunity to move to his neck. Eddie tilts his head back, making room for him, moaning his name and letting his eyes stay close. He guides his hands to his hair, immediately feeling a liquidy substance in it. It's thick as well, too thick to be water or some kind of gel and Eddie's heartbeat increases._

_He opens his eyes and sees the problem before his eyes. Dylan's hair is covered in crimson red, causing that iron odour in the air. Eddie connects the dots and concludes that it's the same substance he tasted in his mouth as well. He can't even comprehend all of this, especially when this same boy is sucking on his neck quite nicely, he might add._

_"Dylan," Eddie breathes out, detaching his hands from his hair and trying to push him off. It just feels so real but it can't be, right?_

_"Please don't," he whimpers, hot breaths against Eddie's neck. The latter furrows his brows._

_"Please don't what?"_

_Dylan tilts his head up, resembling the way he did after those men beat the shit out of him in that abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Chicago. However, it's the tears that stand out to him and the hunk of metal pressed against his forehead held by Eddie's right hand that flourishes out of thin air. His eyes glance between the gun and the bruises & cuts covering Dylan's face, trying to make sense of it all._

_"Please don't kill me."_

_Eddie becomes speechless, trying to move the gun away but not finding any strength to, as if some invisible force is preventing him from doing so. His stomach flips when his thumb cocks the gun like it found a mind of its own._

_Suddenly a series of voices..., well the same voice echo_ _ing_ _through the house, thankfully making Eddie drop the gun but he covers his ears to drown it out, the sound being way too loud for his liking._

_"Please, Eds! Please don't kill me! Please, Eds!"_

_"Stop!" Eddie shouts, shutting his eyes so tightly he feels like passing out._

_A pair of hands grip him, trying to rip them away from his ears but Eddie stays firm._

_"It's your fault Eds, it's your fault!"_

_"No!" Eddie whimpers, "Stop, please!"_

            "Eddie!" A different voice exclaims, still trying to tear his hands away. The brown-haired boy can recognize that voice anywhere, softening his eyes but still refusing to trust his mind.

            "Eddie, c'mon!" The voice a little softer, calming Eddie down further. He slowly opens his eyes, taking in his surroundings and concluding he's not Chicago anymore. He's in Derry with his best friend, pursuing a new assignment while the old one was terminated.

            "Mike?" Eddie says, placing his hand over his forehead. It's dark wherever he is, the only light source being the moon shimmering through the lone window. He remembers he's in his room now and it's probably the middle of the night, which means he woke Mike up.

            "Yeah, it's me. I'm here." Mike says, wrapping his arms around the other boy's small frame. Tears emerge from his eyes, hiding his hands under the blanket and sinking his nails into his palms once again.

            "I'm sorry," Eddie sobs. "I'm sorry."

            "It's okay, it's okay." Mike rubs the boy's shoulder, not caring that his shirt is currently tear-stained. He only pulls the boy in closer, whispering reassuring words in his ears.

             "Can you stay here?" Eddie asks, nuzzling his head into Mike's chest to persuade him but the dark-skinned boy already made up his mind.

            "I wasn't planning on leaving," Mike answers, pulling the covers over his body. "Was it your previous target?"

            Eddie nods.

            Mike only continues to rub his shoulder, genuinely unsure on how to answer. He never experienced such a thing and he doesn't think it'll be something he has to face in the near future. What Eddie needs to do now is sleep anyway, Mike doesn't need to give his advice, he really doesn't need to say anything.

            Instead, he rubs the smaller boy's shoulder continuously, watching him fall back into the depths of his mind.


	9. Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little happiness

 For the rest of the week, Eddie had been... off. He tried his best to hide it but the fact he would only reply in one-word sentences didn't stop his friends from worrying. Being the people they are, the losers would constantly ask him what was going on, and Eddie being Eddie would reply with "I'm fine."

            Not even Mike could get through to him since he never got the chance to talk to him after school. Eddie would escape to the barn and only the sounds of gunshots would give Mike a hint as to what he was doing. He could only assume Eddie was practicing his shooting but doing it every day after school was becoming a concern. The only time he went to check on him was on Thursday, watching him hesitate to squeeze the trigger as if he was too afraid to shoot what was in front of him (which was only a sandbag with a bullseye in the middle of it, held up by sturdy rope). Mike never actually went in and said anything but he was able to hypothesize what the cause behind all of this was.

            Additionally, Richie was confused. The period before Biology on Tuesday, he was so excited to see Eddie. The losers were used to Richie's remarks and had learned that they were giving him the reaction he wanted so they stopped but Eddie was completely unaware to it. It was a perfect opportunity for Richie to annoy someone else as he had with the losers before but Eddie had walked in ghostly, deprived of life just by the look in his eyes. When Richie tried to speak to him, Eddie replied shortly, keeping his tired eyes on the diagrams of malignant and benign tumours. It was obvious the lesson went through one ear and came out the other and Richie saw it easily.

            He decided to let it go for the week but his mouth couldn't take it anymore so he decided to let it go on Friday.

            "Hey, Eds?" Richie asks, tapping his finger on the desk and realizing his mistake.

            "Please don't call me that," Eddie replies, snapping out of his daze. Richie concludes this is the first time in the whole week he actually looks attentive.

            "Sorry." Richie stops tapping the desk, switching to scratching his nail across it. He's unsure of what to say and decides to go with the generic question. "Are you-Is there something going on?"

            "No, why?"

            Richie shrugs, he doesn't really know Eddie enough to theorize what could be going on with him. For all he knows, this is just his personality. "You've been kind of.. off I guess."

            "It's just stress. I don't really know how to deal with it." Eddie says, unsure if he's telling a lie or not. He guesses he's stressed but it's not a normal thing to stress about. It just feels like everywhere he goes, he hears the echoes of Dylan's pleads and they won't go away. The ghost of his past won't stop haunting him.

            "Stress about what?"

             _Please stop asking questions_ , Eddie thinks. Coming up with fake answers is really hard when you're not in the right state of mind. The only thing that comes to mind is: "It's not exactly easy to be thrown into the middle of the second semester in twelfth grade."

            Richie nods but the burning question still hangs around in his head. "Why did you move so late?"

             _Jesus, Richie_ , Eddie internally rolls his eyes. "My parents wanted to- uh, they wanted to find a small town to settle down in and Mike and I aren't of age to leave the house so we had to move with them."

            "Oh, well I guess being thrown into it would totally blow." Richie sighs, trailing off. He could tell Eddie doesn't appreciate the interrogation but he wants to know more about him. There's something that intrigued Richie but he couldn't really pinpoint it. Adding on to that, Richie just found him really attractive. Sun-kissed skin, innocent chocolate-brown eyes, dusty freckles, he's a whole package.

            "Yeah," Eddie says, signifying he's done with the conversation. Richie being Richie however, doesn't let him off so easily.

            "But what do you usually do?"

            Eddie turns his head. "To what?"

            "To calm your stress." Richie runs a hand through his tangled curls.

_I practice shooting by hanging up a sandbag and drawing a bullseye to hit a target._

            "Er, yoga?" Eddie panics, regretting his answer almost immediately.

            "Yoga?" Richie lifts an eyebrow.

            "Yeah, um I read a book about how it calms you down." Eddie decides to go with it and shrugs, silently judging himself. Richie lets out a chuckle, causing the smaller male's stomach to flip.

            "No offence, but that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard." Richie starts tapping the desk again, amused by Eddie's flustered expression. He's almost sure Eddie's telling a lie but decides to let it slide, conjuring an idea in his head. "You free after school?"

            Eddie raises an eyebrow.

▼▼▼

            Richie drops his bag in the closet next to him as Eddie follows close behind, unaware of what's around him. In his head, he thinks it's the perfect opportunity to see if he can find anything about the withdrawals from Richie's father. His peripherals see a small room down the hall, covered by a transparent glass wall, and he makes a goal to get in there.

            "Hey, Richie?" Eddie asks, nudging the taller boy.

            "Yeah?" he says dismissively, slipping off his Chuck Taylor's and placing them on the mat. Eddie does the same with his Keds, observing how small his feet are compared to Richie's

            "What's that room down there?" Eddie asks for complete confirmation.

            "Oh that's just my dad's man cave," he waves it off.

"Man cave?"

"Well, that's what I like to call it. He keeps loads of junk in there," Richie chuckles. "Could probably find his birth certificate in there."

"So he could keep—" Eddie decides what he's about to say is too forward. "He just has useless papers and shit lying around?"

"Yeah, you could also call it his office since he does his financials in there. Mortgages and all that."

             _Jackpot_.

            "Come on," Richie gestures, guiding the other boy up the stairs. Eddie takes the time to admire how simple the house really is. There isn't anything about the house that makes it unique or stylish, almost as if it was made to look like that. Like a normal home, something that goes unnoticed by everyone when they passed by. Everything is placed like you would expect a suburban home to be. The only thing that stands out to Eddie is the family photos placed on top of the fireplace. They mostly consist of, who he assumes, Richie's sister and his parents while one lone picture of Richie as a child sits in the distance with his large glasses and two front teeth on display as if they need to be reminded Richie is also a part of the family and lives under this roof.

            Eddie decides to bring it up. "You wore glasses?"

            Richie looks back at the photo at the top step, cringing softly. "Yeah. Definitely not my best look."

            "Do you still have them?" He desperately hopes Richie says yes.

            "Yeah but I'm never wearing them again," Richie scoffs. Eddie's stomach drops.

            "Why?" Eddie questions, his voice on the verge of a whine. In all honesty, Eddie would do anything to see Richie in glasses again, especially now... that would be a hot sight to see.

            "I looked like fucking Bucky Beaver!" Richie exclaims, stopping at the top step. Though a funny connection, a bit of an exaggeration in Eddie's opinion.

            "I think you looked cute." Eddie shrugs then widens his eyes in realization to what he had just said. He meant to say different, not cute.  _Shit shit shit, fuck_ , He thinks.

            "Heh, thanks." Richie scratches the back of his neck, hiding his face. Eddie purses his lips and nods, relieved to see he's not to bothered by the compliment.

            Richie opens the door of his room, revealing a mess of clothes scattered on his bed, floor and desk chair, finished dinner plates (Actual mould growing on some them) piled on top of one another in an unorganized fashion, and an array of posters from different bands and movies cover the beige walls so much that you'd think his walls were literally painted in posters. Eddie furrows his brows in disgust, wondering how he can function in an area like this.

            "Jesus," he breathes out and kicks a rogue tennis ball. Does Richie even play tennis?

            "Yeah, I don't usually get a lot of visitors," Richie says awkwardly, scooping up a pile of clothes and stuffing it into his closet. He then leads Eddie to his box of cassette tapes and records on his desk table, taking out a cassette with the name 'Toto IV' written in thick black marker. Additionally, he throws the underwear lying on his desk chair to the other side of the room.

            "You've listened to Toto, right?"

            Eddie shakes his head.

            "You're kidding," Richie scoffs.

            "I guess I don't really have the time to listen to music in general." That's the one thing Eddie knows is the complete truth. He's never found the time to stop and just listen to songs since his job doesn't really allow any breaks or downtime. In his room, he'd only read and practice infiltrating skills to get ready for his next mission. Everything he did was about the mission.

            "Jeez, Hanlon-Kaspbrak you need to stop living under that hole you buried yourself into." Richie shakes his head, taking out the cassette from its case and grabbing the walkman, popping it in. "I think it's on the last song but in my opinion, it's the best. Music is the best way to calm your stress, and you can't tell me otherwise."

            Eddie smiles and lets out a small "okay," before taking the headphones attached to the walkman and slipping them onto his head, unsure of what's in store for him. Of course, he's listened to music before but he's never taken it in. It's the kind of thing that goes through one ear and comes out the other. He watches Richie take out a previous cassette and find the case that belongs to it, noticing the way his curls bounce onto his face. He looks so different when he's focused on something, and the butterflies in Eddie's stomach agree as well.

            Richie notices the dazed stare and can't help but feel complimented. He didn't think he was so interesting to look at and can't help but comment on it. "You don't need to stare, I know I'm attractive." He smirks, his eyes trailing up to meet Eddie's.

            The smaller boy blinks and rolls his eyes, pretending to be annoyed, though, Richie technically isn't wrong. "Oh shut up."

            "There's no need to deny it, Eddie Spaghetti," Richie says as he puts his focus back to the walkman, pressing down on the rewind button.

            Eddie cringes. " _Eddie Spaghetti_? What the fuck?"

            "Well, I need a nickname for you and since I can't call you Eds." Richie pauses and puts his hands out as if he's presenting something. "Eddie Spaghetti."

            Eddie tries to hold back but he snorts before breaking into laughter, covering his mouth in realization to how loud he is. "I'm s-s-sorry. That's just the dumbest fucking thing I've ever heard."

            Richie scoffs, pretending to be offended. "Eat my shorts, I think it's a great nickname!" He exclaims.

            "Then let me give you a nickname," Eddie suggests, earning a shrug from Richie in response.

            "Fire away,  _Eddie Spaghetti_." Richie grins, setting the walkman on his lap. He had almost completely forgotten why he brought Eddie to his house in the first place. "Most people call me Rich."

            "I don't want to call you what most people call you." Eddie shakes his head and thinks about what he can take out of his name. "How about Chee?"

            Richie's stomach flutters. "Yeah sure," He shrugs, trying to hide how much he loves it. "Anyway," Richie presses down on the play button and waits for Eddie's reaction.

            The boy starts bobbing his head at the opening percussion sounds, then widening his eyes when he hears the soft synth sounds, smiling ever-so-slightly. "I like it. What's it called?"

            "Africa," Richie answers. Eddie presses the headphones to his ears and closes his eyes, feeling the beat course through his body as Richie watches in amusement. "I'll be right back." He says but based on his expression, it doesn't seem like he hears it. Richie gets up nonetheless, picking up those dirty plates and travels downstairs to retrieve a packet of microwave popcorn, ripping the plastic open and throwing the packet into the microwave as well as throw the plates into the sink. He leans next to it, tapping the counter as he waits.

            He starts to think about Eddie and feels his heart pound a little faster. He would be lying if he says he knows exactly what's going on because he doesn't. Everything in his brain is telling him to learn as much as he possibly can about the boy sitting in his room. He's so different from anyone Richie has ever talked to before. He's proud yet shy, can somehow keep with Richie (when he wants to), and actually laughs when Richie attempts to say something funny. It's weird but Richie's kind of turned on by it.

            The beeping of the microwave startles Richie out of his thoughts, blushing a deep red when he realizes exactly what he's thinking about. Granted, he hasn't felt anything big around Eddie but he'd be lying if he told you there isn't ever a  _twitch_. He remembers one class where Mr. Storall had asked which phase was the longest in mitosis and Eddie had put his hand up. The action had revealed his bare torso and Richie could not stop looking at it, no matter how hard he tried. At that moment, he felt a twitch and tore his gaze away before anything else happen, closing his legs tightly.

            Richie shakes his head and takes out the popcorn, shaking the bag up and down to spread the butter. He closes the microwave and makes his way towards the stairs, stopping on the second step when he hears a loud thump emerge from upstairs. Immediately thinking it's Eddie, he runs up the stairs only to find Eddie coming out of his room, slipping the headphones off with an expression matching Richie's. The two share a questioning look before a giggle emerges from the door in front of them.

            "Did you hear anyone come in?" Eddie whispers.

            Richie shakes his head. "No I was making popcorn," he holds up the bag and turns to the door, unsure what lies on the other side. Part of him has an idea but he dismisses it because it can't be true.

            But apparently, it is.

            "Oh Jesus," Eddie breathes out and turns his head away, catching it in his hand. Richie just stands there, dazed and confused, his lips parted so widely he could catch flies.

            On Rosie's desk chair, sat Preston Hiltz with his legs spread wide, while a kneeling Rosie Tozier unzipped his pants to... yeah. His hands tangled themselves in her hair which already seems to be a mess, as well as his. And by the looks of it, he's already hard so they've been going at it for a while.

            "What the fuck?!" Richie says rather loudly, startling Eddie beside him. The two younger teens snap their heads towards the door, Rosie standing almost immediately, dusting off her knees. Her shock turns to anger as she stomps towards her brother to close the door.

            "Haven't you heard of fucking knocking?" She shouts, placing her hand on the door but Richie slaps his hand against it, preventing her from doing so.

           " _Haven't you heard of knocking_!" He mocks before pointing to Preston. "You. Outta my house."

            "You can't just do that." Rosie scoffs, crossing her arms.

            "Watch me," Richie snarls, glaring right into his sister's eyes. She shrinks under his gaze, keeping her mouth shut. "Out!"

            Preston gets up rather slowly as if he's  _trying_  to annoy Richie, running his hand through his blond, James Dean hair. He stops at Rosie, cupping her face and pressing a kiss to her cheek, whispering something into her ear before walking towards the stairs. A small blush appears on the girl's cheek, tugging a strand of hair behind her ear. Richie's nostrils flare, turning to the sorry excuse for a boy. "Hey, Hiltz!"

"What?" Preston turns around.

            "Your pants are undone," Richie deadpans, earning a scoff from the younger boy and a silent chuckle from Eddie beside him.

            "Only a fag like you would be looking down there, Tozier." He replies cockily. Richie's fist clench but his stomach drops at the insult. He starts to reply but is cut off by Eddie of all people.

            "Only an asshole like you would have a dick that small." Eddie snaps, earning the most shocked expression on Richie's face. Once again, he feels that twitch and doesn't even care.

            Preston rolls his eyes and goes downstairs, zipping his pants back up. As the door closes, Richie turns to Rosie who immediately slams the door in his face, clearly in anger. The former grunts and stomps back to his room in annoyance, while Eddie stands in between the two doors and wonders what the fuck just happened.


	10. Birdwatching

 

        **"WAIT** a minute. You're telling me you were in Richie's house and didn't think to check his dad's office?" Mike interrupts as Eddie tells the story of what had happened hours before. He couldn't wait to share the news but it seems as if Mike is more focused on other matters.

"Did you just totally disregard the fact that I walked into a blowjob session?" Eddie asks after an incredulous pause.

"Since it has nothing to do with the mission, yeah." Mike nods, earning an eye roll from the boy in front of him who sits on the island chair as he watches Mike gaze through the fridge.

"I got distracted, it happens. It'll probably happen with you too," Eddie shrugs. Mike looks away from the fridge in disbelief. He never gets distracted by anything, the only thing he keeps his eyes on is the prize and it's not changing anytime soon.

"I don't get distracted," Mike shakes his head. Eddie lets out a cross between a scoff and a laugh, resting his head on the palm of his hand.

"Aren't you going out with Stan tomorrow?" He sings, eyeing his friend cockily.

Mike raises an eyebrow, "Yeah so?" The two aren't even 'going out,' Stan offered to help Mike in literature because he was falling behind in assignments. Since it was a chance to get closer, Mike obviously said yes (disregarding the fluttery feeling he felt when Stan asked him) and had arranged to meet at Stan's house before they went to the park, where they would be studying.

"What if you get distracted?" Eddie asks innocently, eyes closed like a child.

"By what?"

"Stan."

"Why would I be distracted by Stan?"

            Eddie takes a pause but detects no realization in Mike's eyes. "You think he's hot." He stated, no resemblance of a question. Mike tilts his head in confusion.

            "Eddie, that's not why we're here. It's an undercover assignment and that's not changing. If I let that get in the way, it could change my whole perspective of things," He explains.

            "But what if changing your perspective is a good thing?" Eddie questions and Mike can't give an answer. It's like finding out Santa Claus isn't real for him, he likes the things—okay he may not like the way things are but he's used it and if it were to collapse... what would happen to him? Stan is definitely a person of interest to the dark-skinned boy but in his field of work, putting himself in front of others is his priority until he, well until he dies.

            "There's no food in the fridge, we'll just order a pizza." Mike sighs, leaving Eddie in the kitchen and reaching for the phone on the wall.

            _Don't_ _get_ _distracted_ , Mike thinks.

▼▼▼

            Mike can't be more distracted. He finds himself looking at Stan everytime the other boy turns around. He gets a full view of his hair, a stunning golden-brown that shimmers when in contact with the window that beams rays of light. It's as if God put a halo on Stan's head and Mike is unsure if he's greatful or spiteful.

          He blinks a few times, trying to recollect himself and remembering Stan's parents aren't home. "They went to a banquet," Stan had said when they came into the house. It's the perfect opportunity to sneak into his father's office to try and find how much money was taken from Patrick's account.

           "Hey Stan, before we go, can I use the bathroom?" Mike asks as an excuse to go downstairs.

            "Yeah sure," Stan says dismissively as he bends down to retrieve something from the ground (his textbook, it seems). Mike nods and does his best not to stare at Stan's ass as he walks out. Jesus, what's wrong with him?

            He slowly makes his way downstairs, trying to cause the least amount of sound from the creaky steps and advances to Donald Uris's office. Luckily for him, the door remains unlocked, tiptoeing in though there's no need to. Just a force of habit. His desk, fortunately, is organized so perfectly that even the files don't stick out of their folders. A bright wide window places itself in the middle of the back wall, covered by blinds, only leaks of sunlight illuminating the room. To the left wall are bookshelves, filled with philosophical books as well as different iterations of the Torah and non-fiction books about the Judaism religion. There isn't a spec of dust in sight from what Mike sees, now seeing where Stan gets his cleanliness.

          What stands out to Mike is the file labelled 'BANK HISTORY' in thin black pen. He carefully takes it out of its spot, doing his damndest to not make anything move out of place and opens the file. The first paper dates to nineteen ninety-two so Mike flips backwards, keeping his eyes out for nineteen eighty-nine. Occasionally his eyes would glance to the door, making sure no one would walk in on him. Whatever Stan's doing, Mike hopes he keeps doing it.

           Eventually, he gets to the year and trails his finger down the paper to find when a significant amount of money was deposited to Stan's father. His finger stops at a whopping eleven thousand dollars on the same day Patrick's father was arrested. If Richie's father had taken the same amount as well, the total would come to twenty-two thousand dollars.

            "Shit," Mike mutters, flipping back to the first page to see how much Donald Uris had in his account now so he might find out if he could pay back the money. Luckily, it seems as if he saved the money, his chequings adding up to thirty-three thousand five hundred and twenty-nine dollars and fifteen cents. Mike closes the file, tapping the papers back into the file like they once were and setting back on the pile on the desk. He trails around it, skimming his fingers on the glossy wood and coming across a checkbook, smiling widely.

            "Hey Mike?" Stan calls from upstairs as his voice gets dangerously closer. A pang flourishes in Mike's stomach, ripping a cheque out that has Donald's signature written in cursive ble (He signed all the cheques beforehand so he didn't have to go through the hassle of signing them every time he wrote a check). Mike carefully puts the checkbook back in place and slips out of the office, his eyes trailing between which door had the bathroom behind him.

            He takes a leap of faith and opens the door at the end of the hall, hearing the creaking steps of the staircase get louder and louder as his heartbeat quickens in fear. It seems as if convenience is on his side however, the pristine white door revealing the bathroom on the other side.

            Stan turns to where he thinks Mike may be, watching him emerge from the bathroom after flicking the light off. There's no sign of confusion on his face, relieving Mike on levels he can't even understand. _Close_ _one_ , he thinks.

            "You ready?" Stan asks, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

            "Yeah," Mike says unsuspiciously.

▼▼▼

            The two sit on the wooden picnic table, a fresh spring breeze rustling the leaves around them while the laughter of young children in the park disrupt the silence. Mike sits on the bench, flipping through Stan's notebook to try and make sense of what he's supposed to be analyzing. The book they're reading now is 'To Kill A Mockingbird,' something Mike has already read, many times actually. There was a library in the facility but the books were limited. Mike always found himself going to the older section of books, both fiction and non-fiction. He just finds History so fascinating, and never fails to be astounded by the information he learns.

            The questions given by his teacher are pretty standard, Mike could answer them in a heartbeat.

             "What are the three main themes?"

            "Describe the relationship between Scout and Jeremy."

            "How does racial injustice play into this story?"

            Mike takes his own notebook and copies the questions down so he doesn't have to keep looking at Stan's, who is currently searching for new birds to add to his book. So far, it's been Red Cardinals and Chickadees but he's been hoping that maybe he'll spot a Northern Bobwhite. He's read that they're native in Maine but has yet to see one.

             "Do you need help with anything yet?" Stan asks, eyes still glued through his binoculars. Mike looks up to the focused boy, smiling at his intent to see whatever he's looking for.

            "No, actually. I've read this book more times than I can count." Mike shrugs, continually writing down his thoughts in his okay hand writing.

            "So maybe you don't need my help." Stan laughs softly, briefly removing his binoculars from his face.

            "It is nice to be out here though, y'know? Fresh air and all." Mike shrugs, breezing through the first question almost immediately. It's on days like these when he's outside that he can really appreciate the openness of the outdoors. Being confined into such a small space really limits him to how much he can imagine but even something as simple as children playing in the park is quite a sight. It makes him wonder what would've happened if he grew up like that, being a normal kid surrounded by suburban people. What a dream that would be.

            "You said lived in the city right? In the heart of New York or--"

            "Just on the outskirts," Mike finishes, the first thing coming to his mind since the facility was also on the outskirts.

            "You never liked to walk around or anything?" Stan questions, wondering how Mike could live in such a lively place yet never walk around almost everyday.

            "Never had the time I guess. There isn't even a lot of things to do there, really. I just got used to seeing everything." Mike explains, the sentence a little more sadder than he had meant it to be.

            Stan can practically feel Mike's uneasiness and decides to change the subject. He can relate to having certain situations overwhelm you the more you think about it. "Well, I guess New York wouldn't be a cool place to bird watch. The buildings would be in the way. Won't be able to see shit."

            Mike chuckles, "I guess not."

            Stan feels his stomach drop a little when Mike goes back to the questions, wanting to keep the conversation going for a little longer, "You wanna try?"

            Mike looks up, "Try what?"

            "Birdwatching."

            The dark-skinned boy looks at the binoculars, noticing the tape on the side of it where a visible crack is seen under it. Of course after hearing the idea, it kind of intrigued him but he feels like it's something sacred to Stan. If anything he feels a little special that Stan is letting him trying out, however, it still doesn't seems right.

            "I couldn't. It's-I don't even know how."

            Stan shrugs and shifts a little closer to Mike, ignoring the fluttery feeling his chest gets. He guesses it's something that happens when you're around someone you're fond of. It's weird to even think about.

            He places the binoculars on Mike's eyes, the other boy shifting it a little so it actually fits on his face. Their hands brush but neither comment on it, putting their focus away from it. Stan's cheek basically hovers Mike's as he tries to look in the same direction Mike is, the flutters getting stronger.

            "So what am I looking for?" Mike asks, paying more attention to the fact that Stan's hand is placed over his.

            "Birds," Stan answers matter-of-factly. Mike does a little eye roll even though he knows Stan can't see it.

            For the first few minutes, all Mike could see was occasional pigeons and, once in a while, a red cardinal as Stan watched, silently admiring Mike's chocolate skin (weirdly he wanted to know the taste of it, then mentally slapped himself for thinking such a stupid thing). Then finally, Mike saw something different.

            "Hey Stan?" He calls, perking the boy's interest.

            "Yeah?"

            "I think I see something!" Mike exclaims, causing Stan to internally gush about how adorable he looks when he's excited.

            "What do you see? Describe it." Stan encourages.

            "Well um, the body is kind of rounded and brown with a splotches of white around its stomach. The head is more narrow and a mixture of black and white." Mike explains.

            Stan recounts the description in his head, the beats in his chest rising as he gestures to take the binoculars. Mike gives it to him with furrowed eyebrows, wondering what's so special about this bird. Maybe because he's only started this strange yet interesting hobby.

            "You're a saviour, Mike." Stan smiles and grabs his notebook, his right hand still holding the binoculars to his eyes. He frantically writes though his hand-writing is kept pristine throughout, amazing Mike at his control.

            He chuckles at his excitement however, toying with his hands in realization to how much he likes hanging with Stan and desperately wants to do it more.

            And it kills him to think such a thing.


	11. Suspicious

 

            **BEVERLY** never liked American History. Hearing about such vile figures from the past just reminds her how bad people actually are or can become, like you could trigger an untapped part in the body of every human being. She remembers why she took the class; to fill up her courses with something random because she had all the courses she needed for her university of choice, The Fashion Institute of Technology. It's Beverly's future, she's known that with an absolute certainty since she went into high school.

She had applied a few weeks ago and though it's too early to hear back from all colleges and universities, she can't help but feel they don't want her. She guesses it's just an insecurity she has, considering Ben has told her many times they'd be dumb not to accept her. However, the thoughts of never escaping the small town of Derry and being stuck with the ghost of her father haunting her cloud her judgement. She doesn't even know what New York is like nor does she think she's a person who belongs there. Part of her would like to figure out how the live city of New York functions on her own, an exception of Ben by her side, but the other part wants to have a small idea of what might happen.

            She chooses the ladder.

            Her eyes trail to Eddie sitting in the desk beside her. They never talked much unless it was the occasional look when Mr. Roman tried to tell a history-related joke and a small exchange on the homework they got. But Beverly takes this as a chance to get to know Eddie, and even Mike as well considering the lack of conversation between them.

            "Hey Eddie?" She asks, resting her head on the palm of her hand. The boy looks up from his notes, in his own little world of thoughts. Namely, Preston and how his comment on Richie hurt him more than it should.

            "Yeah?"

            "What's New York like?"

            Eddie blanks.

            He has no idea what New York is like. All he knows is gray walls and metal doors. Hell, even his clothes were tedious. The city itself feels like an imagination Eddie made up to cope with the fact he's never going to see the real place. At the same time, he can't tell Beverly nothing, she'll get suspicious.

            "It's really busy," He shrugs. "If you're not walking you're in someone's way."

            Beverly nods and starts to observe Eddie a lot closer than she has before. An instinct she's taken up perhaps. Slowly, she starts to realize something Eddie doesn't have that most New Yorkers she has met had.

            "I noticed you don't have an accent." She says, pointing to Eddie's lips.

            Eddie's stomach jumps. "Well I wasn't born there. My mother and I were there for a year and during that time she met Mike's father."

            Beverly hesitantly nods. "So you guys probably lived in the outskirts. Y'know, since I know the apartments are scarce in the heart."

            Eddie internally cringes, thinking about the facility and how it's isolated from everything else. He wants to live the fantasy of being in the heart of New York, the bright lights, the loud chatter. Just to be exactly in the city that never sleeps.

            "No actually, we lived, pretty much, in the middle of New York." He states boldly.

            "Oh, really?" Beverly perks.

            "Yeah, I thought it'd be all cramped but I kind of like it." He smiles, the image of what it would be like to really be in the city dancing around his head.

            "I'm thinking of living there. In case you wondering." She states, toying with her key necklace with the hand that's not propping up her face.

            "I think you'd like it."

            "Really?"

            "Yeah, you give off that vibe. Y'know?" Eddie says, earning a chuckle from the redhead.

            "No, I really don't. But thanks, I think." She says, pretending to be confused before reverting to a mesmerizing smile that even Eddie thinks is one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen.

            Suddenly his previous thoughts find a parking spot in his mind, the words coming out faster than he intended them to.

            "What do you know about       Preston?" He asks, regretting how rapidly it escaped his lips.

              Beverly raises an eyebrow at the question, wondering where he got the urge to ask such a question but answers nonetheless. "I know he doesn't like Richie. It's a stupid reason, really."

            Eddie has to lean in to hear the last part and only barely catches it, and his thoughts run like they're on a marathon.

            Why does he hate Richie?

            Who could hate Richie?

            Were they friends?

            Why would he be dating Richie's sister if he hates Richie?

            The more he thinks about it, the last question really answers itself but the biggest question was the first one. "Why does he hate Richie?"

            Beverly stays silent, looking down at her blank notebook page.

            Eddie looks between her eyes, waiting for an answer. It's not until a few seconds later, however, that he learns he isn't getting one. His gaze then trails down to, now, both of her hands fiddling with her key necklace.

            "Beverly?"

            "It isn't for me to tell you, Eddie." She looks up, her ocean eyes showcasing the most serious of expressions. Eddie would be lying if he said he isn't intimidated, an emotion he definitely isn't used to unless he's looking into the coal black eyes of Patrick. Unlike him, however, her eyes soften and Eddie feels his body alleviate. "But he'd tell you if you asked."

            "He would?"

            "Dude, he's known you for a week and a half. And by the way he looks at you, I'd question if you'd known him longer than me." Beverly says, ending with something between a cross between a scoff and a laugh. Eddie can't help but feel a simmering heat rush to his cheeks at Beverly's comment.

            He decides to stay silent, knowing the next words that come out of his mouth will be more than embarrassing. Once he turns back to the lesson, he doesn't even know what Mr. Roman is talking about. The word 'holocaust' pops up a few times so Eddie decides to run with that, while everything that he just heard plays in his head.

            _He's known you for a week and a half. And by the way he looks at you, I'd question if you'd known him longer than me_

                        ▼▼▼

            Throughout lunch, Eddie decides to just observe Richie's movements as the question he's dying to ask begs to be spoken out. Nonetheless, he's fully attentive of Richie's vulgar story about the time he outran some bullies by hiding in s sewer tunnel.

            "It was a miracle I got out of there the same way I came in. There were like, so many twists and turns I took, I thought I was in Bangor instead of Derry. Henry Bowers was a relentless cuck but he wasn't fast enough for me." He pauses and takes a sip of his water bottle before speaking again, but Mike takes the opportunity to interject.

            "Well one guy chasing a restless six-year-old like you would probably be very tiring." He defends.

            Richie puts the bottle down and swallows the water quickly to rebuttal. "It wasn't just him though! There were like, um, three? Other dudes and they were no scrawny boys. One of 'em gave me a permanent mark on my collarbone." Richie pulls his t-shirt down to reveal said bruise. Well actually, it's more of scar than a bruise but it's definitely large. Eddie seems to think so, his eyes staying on Richie's bare skin longer than he should be. Eventually, he gathers the strength to look down at the salad he hasn't touched in five minutes. And lunch started five minutes ago. When did they start talking about this again?

            "Anyway, uh, my new kickers were grody because of all the shitty water I was walking through. I was running too so the water—the water would splash onto my clothes—"

            "You clothes aren't some prized po-poh-possession." Bill interjects, coloring in the finishing touches of his drawing who Eddie had learned was his late younger brother. It's something he continues to do to help him cope with his passing and since it works, the group never interfered with it.

            "I thought—" Richie pauses, really taking in what Bill had just said. "My younger self thought I had a great sense of style!"

            "You wore hawaiian shirts." Stan states matter-of-factly, causing Mike to chuckle even though it really wasn't that funny. "You wore 'em in fall, too."

            "They were warm," Richie replies weakly as Eddie watches blankly. He's in the conversation but he isn't, if you get what I mean. "But before I was rudely interrupted, there was some, like, weird shit in that water. I swear to god, I actually saw a human bone while I was trudging around in there."

            "Bullshit!" Mike exclaims, seemingly very indulged in the story as his arm occasionally, accidentally, grazes Stan's.

            "Bulltrue, Mikey boy!" Richie replies in a weak but triumphant tone, squeezing Eddie's thigh in the midst of it. The boy yelps in response, snapping out of the small daze he was in. "You believe me? Right, Eddie spaghetti?"

            Eddie groans as Ben chokes on the coke he was drinking. "I hate that name." Eddie says.

            "You call him Eddie Spaghetti?" Ben inquires, wiping the fizzy liquid from his lips as Beverly flicks the droplets that fell on the book. He gives her an apologetic look when he sees the detest written on her features.

            "Well yeah," Richie states proudly,throwing an arm around Eddie's small shoulders. It makes him realize just how comfortable Richie is around him. Eddie sure wouldn't be throwing his arm around just anyone.

          "He hates it, but secretly loves it." Richie cups his mouth away from Eddie as if he's telling a secret to the rest of them. The latter rolls his eyes and pushes him, but not enough for Richie to retract his hand (which he desperately doesn't want).

            "I _hate_ it." He says with a tone of finality, and it would've been convincing if Richie didn't notice the small smile at the end. He doesn't comment on it but he does relish in his victory silently.

          "You can call me by my nickname but you never do." Richie says with a proud smile, biting down half of a fry from his tray.

            "But you actually like yours."

            "What is it?" Beverly asked, placing her finger on the page Ben and her stopped on and closing the book, more intrigued than before.

             "Chee," Eddie says, though it comes out more shy than he intends.

             "That's adorable," Mike smiles cheekily, earning a similar styled nod from Stan as well.

            "Wow, even Stan the Man agrees!" Richie squeezes Eddie's shoulder as Stan rolls his eyes and quietly asks Mike for an extra pencil.

            "Well I'm not used to saying it a lot. I probably won't use it casually either." Eddie shrugs, unconsciously leaning closer to Richie. He doesn't notice it but Richie does, shifting his eyes everywhere but Eddie.

            "Sh-Shame." Richie stutters.

            Eddie raises an eyebrow but dismisses it quickly then looks down at his salad. _Why the fuck did I choose salad?_ He thinks before turning to Richie's golden-brown fries, afraid to ask him but way too hungry to care.

            "Are you gonna eat that?" He points to the greasy snack, earning a raise of the eyebrow. It's slowly replaced with a grin as his Richie's arm leaves Eddie's shoulder, causing it to lose its warmth. However, Eddie prefers Richie connecting their two hands together before realizing Richie's trying to pull him up.

            "Where are we going?" He questions.

            "You wanted fries, right?"

            "Well yeah, but just some of yours! I don't want to buy a new one."

             "You're not buying anything. It's my treat." Richie states matter-of-factly. Eddie immediately shakes his head, wondering why Richie's taking such an effort. However, before he can refuse—

            "Just shut up, and let me buy you fries."

            And that alone, for some reason, is enough for Eddie to stay quiet as he kept his eyes on their intertwined hands.

            Beverly watches from a distance, directing the group's attention to the two boys. "You don't have any problem with that?" She questions, eyeing Mike.

             The boy shrugs, internally thinking it's all just part of the plan and it isn't against anything. "Eddie can do whatever he wants, I'm not the boss of him."

            "He seems like a wild card to me. Don't know why," Ben says.

              "Eddie? A wild card? Nah, he's by the books." Mike shakes his head, taking a sip of his water.

"You're saying he'd never once, like, sneak out to Times Square?" Beverly asks.

                "We didn't live in the heart of New York," Mike states matter-of-factly, Beverly's confusion going unnoticed by him.

            "What?"

             "They lived in the outskirts," Stan interjects. Mike nods in response, his stomach fluttering at the thought of Stan remembering what he said a whole three days ago. Beverly, on the other hand, is just trying to comprehend what she's been told. Did Eddie lie to her? Did Mike just not understand where the outskirts and the heart were? Did Beverly just hear them wrong?

            "How long were you in New York for?" She asks, her suspicions growing.

             Mike takes a deep breath, "Two years? That's how long we all were together before we moved here."

            _My mother and I were there for a year and during that time she met Mike's father_

            Beverly starts to piece together the information she's received trying to make sense of it all. But the thing is, it makes no sense at all. Two boys, both in twelfth grade, had to move to small suburban town with no well-known universities close by right after march break. They never really talk about their parents, though understandable. For some reason, they give different answers as to where they lived as well as how long.

            She can't shake her suspicions, but at the same time, she doesn't want to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me too long to update!


	12. Honesty

            **THE** more Richie taps on Eddie's shoulder as if they're drum pads, the more Eddie desperately wants to take the two pencils he's using as drumsticks and continually beat him with them. He can't completely blame Richie since he too enjoys the soothing sounds of _Enlighten Me_ by Echo and The Bunnymen, but the unit test of cell biology disrupts any resemblance of relaxation. 

He tries to take a deep breath as Richie drums in sixteenth notes, and Eddie starts pretty unannoyed until the chorus comes into fruition and Richie decides to sing along.

_"I will be_

_I will be_

_I won't be frightened_

_I will be_

_I will be_

_I'll be enlightened."_

Eddie huffs, since it's not only distracting but Richie's actually singing on key and it doesn't sound half bad, which makes it worse. In anger, he grabs the two pencils and throws them to the edge of Richie's bed where both of their feet lie, earning furrowed brows in response.

"What the hell, Spaghetti?" Richie exclaims, shaking the bed as he climbs to the edge to retrieve the two unfortunate writing utensils.

"We have two days before this test and all you can do is focus on playing my shoulders like drums." Eddie scoffs, erasing a stray line on his diagram of cytokinesis.

Richie grins, "Would you rather I play with another body part, Mr. Hanlon-Kaspbrak?" He raises an eyebrow as he retreats back to his original position, his back against the headboard of his bed with his legs entangled with Eddie's (which neither of them commented on when it happened).

"Oh shut the fuck up," Eddie groans, trying to keep his attention on the paper before another thought barges into his brain. "Aren't you worried you're gonna fail?"

"I've never failed a test."

"So if I were to ask any question about cell biology, you'd get it correct?"

Richie leans in closer, Eddie's stomach flipping in response. "Try me."

Eddie almost forgets what they're talking about before his brain jumps back into his skull and looks back down at the questions he had made up for himself. He only loses himself in front of Richie, weird.

"What are the three principles of cell theory?"

"All living organisms are composed of one or more cells. The cell is the basic unit of structure and organization in organisms and cells arise from pre-existing cells." Richie answers almost immediately.

"In which stage does the spindle capture all the chromosomes and lines them up at the middle of the cell—"

"Metaphase," Richie smiles. A pretty good-looking one at that. "Is that all you got Spaghetti?"

"What's the difference between a malignant and benign—"

"A benign tumor isn't a cancerous tumor. Those types of tumors are unable to spread. They're usually protected by a sac that separates it from the rest of the body. Malignant tumours are cancerous though. They have the ability to multiply and spread to parts of the body."

Eddie just looks at Richie before a few moments in awe, taking in how smart Richie actually is before looking down at his notes. _Why do I need to kill such a bright kid?_ He thinks to himself, a question he's been bottling inside since they first met. He has a grade that's only one percent below Eddie's. That translates to an abundance of potential that Richie could bring into the world, but it had to be squashed by Eddie, namely Patrick. Why does he have to go after the kids? What does he have against them?

"Hey Spaghetti?" Richie softens, noticing the boy's abrupt change in tone. The humorous part of him wonders if Eddie is sad because Richie has one-upped him, however, the larger more caring part knows this is something different. "You okay?"

"I'm just—" _really nervous about this test_ is what he could say so Richie raises no suspicion, but it's just different with him and he has no idea why. Yet, maybe that's how it should be, he just doesn't need to know and shouldn't question it.

"Do you ever... feel like you're going in a cycle?" Eddie asks. "Not like a daily cycle, but one where you feel something happening over and over but you don't have the power to change it?"

Richie doesn't know how but he understands. Trashmouth Tozier gets such deep turmoil that he probably would've dismissed with any other person. But of course, he can't dismiss it with Eddie.

"Yeah, actually. When you're basically watching something unfold and you want to interfere but you're afraid of the backlash." Richie says, looking down as a twisted feeling in his abdomen starts to emerge.

Eddie looks to the boy with an expression that conveys the message ' _what's going on with you?_ ' Richie would usually brush it off, namely because he doesn't think anyone would really listen but he feels like if it's Eddie he needs to know everything. And he's okay with that.

"It's—Ever since Rosie was born, I've been the odd one out. Hell even before, I never felt—I never felt part of the Tozier family and I was two fucking years old. At first I was lashing out and trying to put my word in whenever I could, and it worked sometimes but then I started to realize... no matter what I do, my parents just won't notice me." Richie breaths out and takes a look at Eddie who listens intently, the seconds it takes his eyes to blink getting longer. He's listening, he's actually listening.

"Now I just watch as I drift away from them and I could do something, but I'm—I'm afraid of hearing that they... they never wanted me." Richie fiddles with his fingers. "I guess that's why I don't get along with my sister, because I envy her and the attention she gets just for being a girl. But we used to get along and, like, she was the only person who made me feel like I was still apart of the family. And then you obviously see how she is now, so I'm just—I'm just alone here."

Eddie blinks for the first time in what feels in hours and it definitely shows when a stray tear trickles down his freckled cheek. His quickly wipes it before Richie looks up at him but the expression stays the same. Without thinking, Eddie takes Richie's fiddling hands and interlocks it with his own.

"What if—What if, I were to just... come here everyday after school?" Eddie suggests, staring at their hands that gives him a warm feeling.

"You don't need to do that." Richie shakes his head, a hidden smile on his lips.

"I want to do that, Chee." Eddie says. "No one deserves to be alone."

The two look up, locking eyes, something they've never done before. Yeah, they have looked at each other but it's just for the sake of looking. Here, they're _taking in each other_. It all feels fine for Eddie, to be getting close to someone who can share the same interests but once again, the sneaky devil called life can't have good moments for too long.

Flashes of Dylan rank up in his mind, especially the night when Eddie almost kissed him, which is—what he realizes—could happen with Richie right now. Unfortunately, Eddie lets go pretty quickly as a shadow of his past looms in the background in the corner of Richie's room with a dime-sized hole in the middle of his forehead. Since everything is dead silent, he can hear the drops of blood hit the floor like fawcett that hasn't been completely turned off.

Eddie's eyes stay glued to that part of Richie's room, watching Dylan onlook in disappointment. He's doing the exact same thing to Richie without realizing it, and ultimately he'll have blood on his hands by the end of all this. What is he doing with his life?

"Run away, Eddie." Dylan whispers as blood trickles down his swollen lips. "You can let him live if you run away."

Eddie closes his eyes tight, hoping that once he opens them the illusion will be gone. Richie, on the other hand, hides his disappointment of not getting the chance to kiss Eddie but forgets to consider the fact he might not even like guys and is just really affectionate towards other people. Before he can really comprehend it, Richie's eyes trail down to Eddie's enclosed fist as they crease into his skin more and more. He then realizes how anxious Eddie actually looks, with his shivering body, closed eyes, and heavy breathing.

"Eddie?" Richie asks, his hand going to touch his shoulder but stopping mid-way, wondering if he should even touch him or not. This doesn't seem like a panic attack, he's seen (and has had) those before so he'd know. But this did seem close to one.

Suddenly a burst of breath shoots out Eddie's lips as Richie jumps and his back hits the headboard of his bed, startled. His eyes go back to Eddie's hand which now has four creases on them, two of them drawing blood. The anxious boy grabs his own face with the other hand, rubbing it immensely.

"I'm so sorry," Eddie says with more pain than he could imagine. This all just comes out like word-vomit, apologizing to Richie, to Dylan and to himself. Maybe this is what he's been bottling up for years, something he's wanted to say to everyone he's killed. Deep down he knows they didn't deserve it, and he used to tell himself it's part of the job but he just can't anymore.

Richie watches, thinking of why Eddie said what said but more focused on calming him down. One thing does go into his mind, not the best plan but a plan nonetheless. He climbs over Eddie and onto the floor, travelling to his 'music station' as he likes to call it and flips through the box of records before landing on the Abbey Road album and a song pops in his head.

The raven-haired boy takes Eddie's hand, leaving the bleeding one to hang at his side and leads him downstairs, trying his best not to stare at the distraught boy for long periods of time. Eddie just follows on blankly, flicking his eyes away from one place after they seem to slowly conjure a figure in the shadows.

The two get to the kitchen where the Tozier family keeps their first-aid kit, or more specifically, where Richie keeps his first-aid kit since he's the only one who frequently uses it. He takes out rubbing alcohol and gauze while ripping a piece of paper towel from the island. Drenching the paper towel in alcohol, he delicately takes Eddie's hand and wraps it in his own, wiping the towel across his cuts. The boy's eye only twitches which has Richie come to a conclusion.

"This isn't the first time you've done this." Richie says, coming out as more of statement than he intends.

Eddie only shakes his head while watching Richie throw the towel in the trash. "It helps."

"With what?" Richie asks as he takes the gauze and unwraps it.

"I've lost people, and I watched it happen." Once again, word vomit.

Though, Richie fully understands what he was talking about, he is unsure of what to say. Luckily for him, Eddie keeps speaking.

"It's really all my fault. I could've stopped it but I was too much of a pussy to do it. Everytime I turn, I see them, those people just watching and judging me. But the thing is, they should be because there's nothing good I've done. And before you tell me I shouldn't be blaming myself then tell me why I still see them?" Eddie asks, actually dying to know himself. Richie probably couldn't answer it though since it seems he doesn't even know it himself.

"I think, since you're blaming yourself, you conjure these past people in your head. You're not a bad person, Eddie. I've been with you long enough to know that. Maybe you think so but I think there's just something that makes you have that mentality. If you learn to lose that, than maybe you'll realize that whatever happened wasn't your fault."

Apparently he knows exactly what to say.

"Now come on," Richie says, grabbing Eddie's now wrapped up hand, barely noticing Richie was fixing it up. He was too focused on Richie and his words. But, he's always focused on Richie so what’s new?

The two make their way back upstairs as Richie's eyes trail on Rosie's doorway for a while. If he can tell Eddie those things, Richie might be able to too. But that's something for another time.

Richie disconnects his hand from Eddie's and replaces the previous record with Abbey Road and flips it to side two, guiding the needle to the edge of the record and after a few moments of dead wind, Here Comes The Sun starts to play.

"Favourite beatles song, and just what you need." Richie smiles, genuinely. Eddie can't help but smile back.

"I don't think music can solve every problem."

"Well it sure does help." Richie counters and pulls Eddie close to him, causing him to yelp in response.

"What are we doing?"

"Dancing," Richie answers, stretching the two syllables as one of his arms slides around Eddie's waist, awakening a feeling in his stomach he didn't even know could exist. The other hand intertwines with Eddie as they make small circles around the room.

"This is how old people dance." Eddie says, contemplating where he should lean his head on Richie's shoulder or not.

"Old people are great!" Richie exclaims like a ten-year-old would. It unintentionally makes Eddie chuckle, unable to believe that a few minutes ago he was basically hyperventilating. Instead, he decides to ask the question that he really needs to get out of his head.

"Hey Richie?"

Richie hums, lost in the music.

"Why does Preston hate you?"

That snaps him out of it.

"I knew this question would come." Richie sighs. "I'll tell you but you can't say anything until the end."

Eddie nods and continually sways as he watches Richie contemplate if they should stop. He can tell by the way he shifts between his toes. They don’t.

"Preston and I used to be friends, really good ones. He came over almost everyday and we'd just fuck around. Play-fight, watch movies, almost burn the house down, normal kid stuff. Then I notice we were a lot more," Richie thinks, "—intimate than other friends. He'd kiss my cheek like everyday and I didn't really think anything of it. I mean, I was eleven. It got to the point where I found myself getting red everytime his name was mentioned around me. My mother actually thought I was sick, a rare occurrence to see she cared, if I do say so myself. I actually went to the library to check it out because I never pay attention to sex-ed and found a book called 'The Wonders of Sex."

Eddie snorts.

"I know right?" Richie continues. "So I read through and added a new word to vocabulary, bisexual. I wasn't sure that I totally liked guys since I did have a pretty large crush on Bev when I was ten but it just went away with time. Bill actually let me kiss him to see what would happen and that basically concluded it, as well as the fact that Bill realized he was _not_ straight, but I never told Preston because I was scared of what he'd say. I never confronted him but he sure did confront me." Richie sighs, telling Eddie everything he needed to know. They had kissed.

"I was super taken back because I myself couldn't accept that fact I liked girls and guys so I pushed him away when he kissed me. He got really mad and said I hurt his feelings or some bullshit like that then went on to tell everyone in school that I kissed him. Now the word 'faggot' is attached to my name and Preston did everything in his power to seem straight even though I could tell he wasn't."

"Is that why he's dating—"

"My sister? Probably, she's jumped from guy to guy, it makes sense for him to try and get with her when she finally became single."

"What a dick." Eddie deadpans as Richie spins him around, allowing his intimidating character to falter.

"You're adorable when you're mad." Richie grins, causing the other boy to roll his eyes.

"Jesus, do you have an off button?" Eddie questions.

"Nope!" Richie says, shrugging. "But now you know my not-so-secret. Y'know since it's kind of common knowledge."

Eddie purses his lips and nods. "Well then. My not-so-secret is my intense attraction for guys."

"Oh really?" Richie raises an eyebrow, internally screaming in excitement.

"Yeah," Eddie shrugs, not knowing he's made Richie the happiest person on earth. There's no denying it now, Richie Tozier likes Eddie Hanlon-Kaspbrak and might actually have a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for my unnecessarily long hiatus, I have a lot pre-written and will be posting more frequently!


	13. The Truth

 

**MIKE** finds himself frowning as he goes to the bank with Donald Uris' cheque in his pocket. Now looking at all the small stores and community park area (that now has a sign of an April Fools fair coming up in a few days), it'd be nice to settle down here. Of course, not all of the people are great but no town has a population of perfectly nice people and surprisingly he hasn't been met with too much aside from the occasional stare (he’s unaware that many people are doing so right now).

However, as the Derry Bank comes into his eyesight, Mike remembers why he's here. If it wasn't for the people stealing Patrick's money, he probably would've said he doesn't want to do the assignment anymore. Why kill an innocent kid for nothing? Especially someone as interesting and undeniably beautiful as Stan is.

The more he thinks about it, why can't he just get rid of the fathers or the mothers? He doesn't want to go after the parents necessarily but if Patrick had to pick someone, why the kid? Even as he reaches the front door, he's hesitant to open it, the abundance of questions overflowing his head. And if Patrick only saw even one of those questions he'd be dead by now.

Reluctantly, he opens the door of the bank, watching the customers silently converse with the bankers. Mike goes to the last one since he's free, hoping he doesn't ask any questions about the cheque. If it's public knowledge that Donald has lost a large sum of money in the past then suspicions will rise if he's giving away that same amount. Intelligently, Mike wrote the cheque to 'The National Cancer Association,' so it seemed like he just wants to support a good cause. In reality, that's just one of Patrick's accounts that most people think actually goes to research for cancer but actually falls into Patrick's pockets, another immoral thing he's done. Mike has responsible for putting a few million in there after some of his missions.

"Good morning, how can I help you?" The banker says, his auburn hair tucked into his blue baseball hat.

"I'd like to deposit a cheque." Mike says, tugging on his t-shirt and taking the folded piece of narrow paper out of his jean pocket. He passes it to the banker who he now realizes has a name tag on his left breast. 'Dave' it says.

"Donald Uris?" He questions, flourishing a series of jitters in Mike's stomach.

"Yeah seems like he really cares about cancer research," Mike shrugs and digs his hands into his pockets.

"Seems weird though, since he lost so much several years ago." Dave says, furrowing his brows as he reaches for the deposit slip and slides it to Mike.

"What do you mean?" Mike asks, curious for a citizens take on the story. All Patrick said was Donald and Wentworth had claimed his father had stolen a large amount of money even though their accounts were untouched. It's a pretty low thing to do in Mike's opinion.

"There were tons of people losing their money at the time. Business owners and whatnot, but had no idea how or why. The two largest targets were Wentworth Tozier and here Donald. The two went mad out of their minds because they had no idea where their money was going. Combined, the money loss came to sixty-thousand dollars." Dave says, boggling Mike's mind. He thought Patrick only got stolen from the two, not the whole town. Plus, when Mike saw the withdrawal, it said eleven-thousand dollars, now Donald lost thirty-thousand?

"Sixty-thousand dollars?"

"Yeah, they finally traced it back to the Hockstetter family, no surprise there. That family was nothing but trouble. I remember, the eldest son Patrick, murdered his own baby brother out of jealousy because of some organization the dad was running. Anyway, the people got their money back but Wentworth and Donald got only about half because the Hockstetters already spent some the money. Good riddance to the father, am i right? He was arrested a week later."

Mike just stood there trying to comprehend it all. Had he been lied to? Was Patrick just stealing from innocent people and using Eddie and Mike to get back the money he stole. _Was that all of my missions?_ He ponders.

"What happened to the rest of the family?" Mike asks.

"They stayed a couple more years, caused a few more candles and then bounced off, never saw of again." Dave shrugs, smoothing out the paper and walking to the back.

Mike jumps, "Wait!" His hand holds out as Dave stops walking with a startled expression. "I'm going to ask Mr. Uris if he really wants to give this away. Y'know since he's lost so much before."

Dave raises an eyebrow but Mike detects no suspicion as he walks back and hands Mike the cheque. If anything, the young man seems fairly new to the job. He forgot to ask for any identification.  "Okay, should we wait for yo—"

"No, it'll be fine. Thank you." Mike weakly smiles before walking out with mixed emotions of anger and disappointment, all of it geared towards himself.

How could he possibly have the mindset that murdering people for stolen money had been the reason for helping Patrick get his wealth back? The more he thinks about it, none of the money any of the agents got for Patrick might’ve actually been his. Living in a town like Derry wouldn't be getting you billions of dollars to start off with, he’s been here long enough to know that. Mike's been manipulated, used, toyed with, any word that fits. It dawns on him more when he gets a punch to the gut feeling that he was supposed to kill Stan even though he did nothing and his father did nothing. Part of him is glad he found this out before he took an innocent life.

What could he do now though? He can't tell Patrick he's psychotic asshole who deserves to die for everything he's done. He can't just go along with the mission and steal the money that rightfully belongs to the Uris family. But he can't stay in Derry and wait for the consequences, he doesn't want to die. He's learned to put his life before others, thanks to Patrick, so saving himself is main priority.

But Stan.

If he leaves Stan alone, he'll die anyway. Patrick will send another person, one that will get straight to point and kill Stan in cold blood. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck! What do I do what do I d—_

"Hey Mike!" Speaking of which. Mike turns his head to the park and witness a mop of striking brown curls in the distance.

"Stan? Why are you out this early?" Mike calls, his voice cracking as he crosses the street towards the park. His heartbeat quickens with every step, wanting to stay far away from the boy he desperately wants to save.

Stan holds up his pair of binoculars, sending Mike the memo of what he's doing as his sits on the top of the picnic table beside him. Both of them, unknowingly so, don't really want to see each other right now. Despite not being able to take their hands off each other at school, there's a different energy flying at this very moment. Stan's is a little different from Mike's though.

_"Don't involve me with your boy problems. I get enough of those with Richie," Ben complains as he slams his locker shut. Stan rolls his eyes and follows him downstairs, the lunch bell having rung a minute ago._

_"C'mon Ben you're, like, the romantic of the group. Just—just give me some advice." Stan pleads, holding his binders to his chest like a lifeline._

_Ben sighs, knowing Stan isn’t one to back down, "What do you like about Mike?"_

What a hard yet easy question _, Stan thinks. "There's too many things to count."_

_"I can't give you advice if you don't give me information." Ben sings, travelling down the steps as fast as he can. He always tries to get Bev's lunch before her, just because he wants to._

_"Well there's his smile and the way that he talks to me like I've known him for years. He actually enjoys my interests and doesn't do them out of pity. His confidence, his eyes, his—"_

_"Yeah okay, that's pretty cute." Ben smiles, causing Stan to scratch the back of his neck in embarrassment. He had a whole paragraph to describe Mike's personality alone._

_"There's a carnival coming up for April Fools. Ask him out." Ben suggests._

_Stan's eyes widen. "I don't think I have the courage to do that."_

_"Have you tried?"_

_"No—"_

_"So how do you know what will happen if you don't?" Ben says, but the taller boy stands unsure._

_"Stan, the worst he could say is no. And if he does, he's not worth your time. You're a great guy and by the way, I'm pretty sure he notices that too." Ben lands a hand on his friend's shoulder._

_Stan nods, sighing. "Right, you're right. I'll try. It can't be that hard."_

It's really fucking hard to speak to Mike right now, the thought of him being here never crossing his mind. He forgets he needs to speak face to face with Mike, the butterflies multiplying by the second.

"I wanted to get some bird-watching in before school. Calms me down."

"For what?"

"My dad's been getting stressed lately, and likes to take it out on me." Stan shrugs, putting his binoculars towards his eyes to hide the disappointment behind them. Yeah, he's mostly saying this to stall asking Mike to the April Fools Fair, but his dad has been giving him a hard time.

Stan came home yesterday with an eighty percent on his math test and the Uris household echoed with screams of anger from Donald Uris. Stan just nodded and waited for the lecture to be over while his peripherals glanced at his mother's pity at the staircase. He didn't cry when he went up to the privacy of his room but he let out the biggest breath after holding it for so long.

"Are you okay?" Mike asks, placing a hand on Stan's shoulder. His stomach fluttered at the concern, taking the binoculars away from his eyes.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine. You're here so that makes things better." Stan smiles, nudging Mike, causing him to chuckle.

"Thanks."

Silence follows, and Stan takes it as the opportunity to ask but his mouth doesn't seem to move.

How does he start? Where does he start? He's never done this before and the idea of confrontation scares him. Rejection is the biggest outcome in this situation, Stan calculated it and according to him there's a twenty-three percent chance that Mike could say yes. His mind probably made that up but it is a plausible number. But, if he doesn't do it now, he'll probably never find the courage to do so again.

"Uh Mike?" Stan says, turning to face the dozed off teenager. Mike snaps back and turns to Stan.

"Yeah?"

"Well, uh, there's the fair coming up and—" Stan fiddles with his fingers, taking a breath under the intimidating yet mesmerizing gaze of Mike. "—and I was, um, I was wondering—"

"—You were wondering if I wanted to go with you?" Mike finishes, detecting the nervousness in his voice. Stan nods and looks up to meet the lightened up eyes of Mike Hanlon-Kaspbrak, finding comfort in how easy he makes things for him.

"Uh y-yeah, like a date or something." Stan mumbles, going back to finding his fingers the most interesting thing known to man.

"Or something?" Mike raises his eyebrows, grabbing Stan's fidgeting fingers. He completely forgets he's out in broad daylight with multiple people playing in the park or going to work. Mike just sees Stan, scared and excited at the same time. He's falling hard and doesn't realize it until now.

What the fuck is he supposed to tell Patrick?

"Do you—Do you want to go on a date?"

_Don't say yes, don't say yes, don't say—_

"Yes," Mike nods. "That'd be cool."

_Fuck_.


	14. Just Like Old Times

 

          **THE** same morning Mike finds out about his boss's real intentions, Richie finds himself hovering his bony knuckles over Rosie's door. The two always silently walk to school together before they separate and see each other in the halls as if they've never met before. Richie never intended to ignore her at school but she sure did and didn't think twice about.

            After Richie's conversation with Eddie yesterday, however, he's tired of constantly treating his sister like she's done something wrong. It isn't her fault that their parents gave her all the attention when they were kids and Richie doesn't want that mindset anymore. Now he stands in front of Rosie's door, ready to make amends.

            Her, not so much.

            "Hey, Rosie?" Richie says, softly knocking in case she's just woke up. She gets really pissy in the morning. It doesn't matter though, since there's no answer, causing Richie to sigh and try again.

            "Can you please open up?"

            "What do you want?" The higher pitched feminine voice says on the other side of the door. Richie gulps, finding it harder to speak after hearing her talk. He didn't even plan out what he was going to say, he figured his mouth would do the talking.

            "Uh—Are you almost ready?" Richie says, squeezing his eyes shut at the cringey use of words.

            "Yeah why? You meeting up with your loser friends?" She scoffs. Richie almost forgot she had the same trashmouth as him.

            "No, I-uh, I thought we could go out for breakfast since mom and dad aren't home. I know we both fucking suck at cooking and might burn the house down if we try." Richie shrugs, missing the small laugh emanating from his sister's mouth.

            "I don't know if I want to go out." Rosie says, intentionally being difficult but Richie remains calm.

            "I'll pay. It's been awhile since we've just talked."

            "You wanna talk? To me?" Rosie questions. "When did you start caring about what happens to me?"

            "I've always cared," Richie counters. He hears a series of drawers opening and closing, receiving a hint as to what she's doing.

             "Bullshit, if you cared, you wouldn't have thrown out Preston like you did a few days ago." Rosie argues, earning an eye roll from the boy on the other side of the door.

            "I did that because he's an ass and if you keep being around him, you'll realize that too."

            Finally, Rosie opens the door but with frown cursing her lips as she walks to her older brother in annoyance. "He's nice to me, Richie."

            He looks into the disappointed eyes of the girl in front of him who genuinely believes Preston likes her. Richie doesn't know what Preston did specifically but he wants to punch him senselessly for brainwashing his sister.

            "I just don't want you to get hurt, okay." He sighs, knowing he'll regret his next words. "If you want to continue hanging with him, you can. But if he pulls something, I'll be sure to rip his arm off."

            Rosie squints her eyes in concern but a small smile plays on her lips as if she understands and she does. Richie's just being protective, though too much sometimes, he's just looking out for her.

            "Thanks, Richie Rich."

            Richie hasn't heard her say that nickname since he was fourteen but it still manages to give him the same warm feeling it did when he was younger.

            "So you up for that breakfast?"

                         ▼▼▼

            Richie didn't think eating breakfast with his sister would be awkward but somehow it is. She's a stranger to him now, just a fifteen year old girl who stumbled upon his table. He could tell she felt the same, tugging on her pink windbreaker as she looks around the diner, focusing on a ketchup stain on a nearby table.

            "Do you still do extracurriculars?" Richie asks, trying to start up a conversation.

            "Nope."

          _Way to cut it short, sis_. Richie thinks, deciding to nod in response.

            "But I'm thinking of joining the designing club. I heard it's pretty cool." Rosie continues.

            "What do they design? Dresses and shit?" Richie asks, taking a sip of his water.

           "Yeah, I've been wanting to design my own clothes," Rosie says. "And yes they are mini skirts and tops."

            Richie cringes at the memory of their past conversation. He didn't directly call his sister a slut but he sure did imply it.

            "I didn't mean to call—"

            "I know, Rich. But let me wear what I want, it's my body." Rosie says, but Richie only half-agrees.

            "Are you dressing for yourself though?" Richie tilts his head as he waits for an answer. He knows she's dressing like that because that's how girls like Sally Mueller and Greta Bowie are dressing. _They_ can dress how they want, Richie couldn't care less but his sister doesn't seem to be dressing like that for the same reason. His assumptions are proven right when she hesitates to speak, trying to come up with a valid answer. Fortunately for her, the waitress finally arrives at their table, a familiar one at that.

            "Well if it isn't the Tozier siblings," the waitress says with her hands placed on her hips.

            "Hey Mandy." Richie greets, giving his biggest smile towards the lady they've known for almost a lifetime. They used to come to this diner all the time and Mandy would sneak them free meals if she was ever on her shift. But as time went on, they gradually stopped coming since Rosie was always hanging out with her 'friends' and Richie didn't really want to go without her.

            "It's been a long while, hasn't it." Mandy says, a wrinkled smile on her face (she's pushing fifty at this point).

            "Yeah, it has." Rosie replies, having to convince herself that it has indeed been a long time.

             "What can I get you two buggers—Wait, don't tell me. I remember." She snaps her fingers to Richie, "Grand Slam." She points to Rosie "Diamonds special?"

            "You got it!" Rosie exclaims, earning a fit of chuckles from the old woman.

            "Ya girl's still got it!" Mandy smiles, writing down the two orders and walking back to the counter with a little limp in her step. Rosie smiles as she sees her walk away, remembering how fun coming here actually was. She remembers the time Richie tried drinking his milkshake from his nose and his snot ended up being pink for a week since the way they get their milkshakes to look a certain colour is food-colouring. She herself laughed so hard, and can't remember anything in recent memory that made her laugh in general. Damn.

            "She's got more spunk than me." Rosie comments as Richie turns his head back around to meet her sister's nostalgic eyes.

            "I miss coming here too." Richie says, detecting the atmosphere of the situation. "We could come here in the mornings? Y'know when you're free?"

            "Just one question."

            "What?" Richie asks.

            "Why now?" Rosie shrugs, crossing her arms around her waist. Sure, this is nice but just a few days ago, they couldn't stand to be in the same room with each other.

            "Well, I've been blaming you for stuff that's not really your fault and I only realized that now. We've both been dicks to each other and I'm pretty sure both of us are tired of it." Richie explains. Rosie understands but still stands unconvinced. It's going to take some time before they get all buddy buddy again.

            "I guess I forgive you but it's going to take some time before this becomes an everyday thing." She says gesturing to the diner. "I'll come to you when I'm ready."

            Richie only nods, though a little disappointed that they weren't able to fix it quickly. He guesses that's just not realistic.


	15. Interrogation

 

            "How's everything going? I'd expect my money would be returned by now." Patrick says over the phone, impatient but calm. The deep voice booms and explodes through Eddie's ear, pulling the phone away for a second to stop the ringing by pressing his ear a few times.

            "Mike got Donald Uris' money, he's depositing it to you right now."

            "Tell Hanlon I said good job. All he has to do is get rid of the Uris boy and he can come back."

             Eddie twists his finger around the cord with the hand that isn't bandaged, cringing at the words 'get rid of,' having gotten to know Stan for the two weeks that had pass. They only share Physics together (though they talk about anything but) and Eddie has been able to connect with Stan more than anyone other than Mike back at the facility.

            _"—and those dumb jump scares." Stan cringes._

_"Right! I didn't even flinch." Eddie states proudly, earning an incredulous nod from Stan. "Okay maybe once or twice."_

_"Chucky sure can make an entrance though."_

_"I didn't even find Chucky that scary, to be honest." Eddie shrugs but Stan says otherwise._

_"Oh no, Chucky was pretty scary."_

_Eddie furrows his brows. "How?"_

_"You're saying you wouldn't flip the fuck out if an inanimate object came to life and attacked you?"_

_"You got a point there," Eddie chuckles, continually filling out the worksheet on his desk._

            "Eddie!"

            The boy blinks a couple times, forgetting where he is and places the phone back on his ear. He'd rather be talking to literally anyone else.

            "Hmm?"

            "How about you? How far are you? You have two and half weeks left, you know?" Patrick almost threatens, probably thinking of all the possible consequences he could muster for Eddie, the thought sending shivers down his spine. He taps his finger against the phone, playing with the static that happens as of a result of it. He's definitely _not_ telling him he's having doubts about this assignment but he can't lead him on with false information. If only he had the strength to tell Patrick he just doesn't want to do this whole organization thing. But not only would his life be in danger, so would Richie's. Of course, he's been having these thoughts of defecting ways before Richie but he's been that real turning point to actually doing something good for a change.

            It looks like his brain decided to act on it before he had the chance to. "The money from the Tozier family has already been spent."

            His hand suddenly slaps his forehead, the sound echoing through the hollow halls of his home. _I can't believe I just said that. I can't believe I just said that_. He curses to himself.

             "You're saying they don't have any money at all?"

            "Well they have money—"

            "Then take that!" Patrick snaps, causing Eddie to flinch backward. He's only seen Patrick angry once and that resulted in a public execution inside the facility.

            Roger Torrez was accused for taking confidential information from Patrick's office and almost giving them to the authorities. He came forward himself, though Eddie could see there was something in his eyes that lead him to believe the man wasn't responsible. Patrick asked him to just apologize as he walked over to him. Roger actually did, thinking he would be let off easy and that's what most people thought as well, including Eddie.

            But silence filled the room and no one said a thing.

            Patrick only towered over him, demanding power before punching him in the jaw. It didn't end there though, the whole cafeteria watching helplessly as Patrick beat the man to a pulp with nothing but his bare fists. The only reason he stopped was because he was tired but that didn't mean he was finished with Roger. Patrick left the room to go to his office and the air was thick with tension as everyone waited for the man's fate. He came back with cable wire and wrapped it around his throat then hung him in the middle of the cafeteria. He was hanging for a week.

            Eddie doesn't want to end up like that.

            "I'm going to the Tozier house again after school so I can—"

            "No actually," Patrick interrupts, calmer than before. "I need you to check out the Ironworks factory."

            "Why?" Eddie furrows his brows.

            "That's where you'll kill the two boys. An explosion went on there a couple decades back and no one bothered to clean the place. There's nothing but skeletons in that place and Tozier and Uris will be disposed of there." Patrick explains, another series of shivers trickling down Eddie's spine. The horrid image of Richie's face all bloodied and bruised plays in his mind. His pleading cries as he begs to be spared, his fate lying in Eddie's hands. Just like Dylan before.

            Eddie can't do this anymore.

            "I'll make sure it's ruh-ready." Eddie tries to say in a determined fashion.

            "You never disappoint me Eddie. Don't start now."

            And the line goes silent.

            Eddie hangs the phone back on the wall and lowers his head, leaning against the doorframe in shame.

            _You can let him live if you run away_

            It is a definite possibility to just disappear and leave Richie or Stan out of it, if he were to convince Mike that this whole thing is damaging to themselves. Eddie would never want to leave Richie, gradually accepting the way he feels about him as the days go on but if it meant Richie would still be alive then he'd disregard his feelings. All of it just overwhelms to the point where a tear falls from his left eyes, and he's too distraught to wipe it away.

            Instead, he travels up to his room, taking in each step on the stairs as he goes up. The first thing he looks for is his bag, scrounging around for homework to get his mind off the whole situation. However, he comes across a walkman that he knows wasn't there before. A letter sticks to it by a rubber band, making Eddie furrow his brows as he takes it out, immediately detecting who's hand-writing it is. A small smile creeps over his lips as he removes the rubber band and opens the letter.

_Instead of stabbing your self with your nails, I figured I'd just make you a playlist to help you with your stress._

_\- Your favourite person, Richie_

            Eddie chuckles as his heart swells for Richie's genuine care for him, something Patrick isn't even capable of. And to think, he wants to kill this sweet kid who's doing his damndest to keep Eddie okay.

          He checks the walkman for a cassette tape and one called 'For Eddie' with a heart beside it is already tucked into it, the name causing Eddie to blush furiously. He closes it and presses down on the play button, slipping on the headphones as his mind drifts to different little features of Richie. The song Don't Worry, Be Happy plays first, and Eddie internally rolls his eyes at the straight-forwards song choice but decides to keep listening anyway. His eyes close as he lets the soft whistles take him away from the harsh reality that he might die trying to protect Richie from Patrick.

                         ▼▼▼

            "I think I'm going to die," Richie says in panic as he looks around the open field of kids enjoying their lunches. The other five teen sitting around him just stare in concern at how nervous Richie actually is.

            "Eddie just didn't want to come today." Mike assures, but it doesn't calm Richie down one bit.

            "Is he sick or something? Is he feeling bad about anything?"

             "No," Mike states firmly, though the redhead across from him senses something off.

             "You both disappeared this morning actually," Beverly comments. "Where were you?"

            "Eddie wanted me to stay with him, and the argument kind of got heated and then I was hanging out with Stan." Mike bullshits except for the last part, setting his hands down on his lap while it links with Stan's under the table.

            "What about your parents?" Beverly asks, stabbing down on her ravioli with a fork.

            "Oh them, they're out of town." Mike waves off, the nerves building up inside him from the abundance of questions.

            "It's been two weeks and they're already out of town?"

            Ben nudges Beverly, telling her to stop with the unnecessary questions but Beverly only nudges back and waits for an answer.

            "Well, they're just getting stuff from New York. We didn't take everything." Mike says, ignoring his rapidly beating heart.

            Stan notices this, glaring at Beverly for making him feel uncomfortable and squeezing his hand in assurance that he's there for him. He has no idea where the sudden interrogation came from but he isn't going to let Mike feel isolated.

            "Hey Mike, I heard they were selling tacos in the caf today. I've never tried one." He shrugs innocently as a confused Bill sits on the end of the table knowing Stan has definitely had a taco before.

            Mike smiles, his thumb caressing the back of Stan's hand as if to say 'thank you.' "Sure but they might be shit since all the food kind of sucks."

            Stan chuckles, "Well what can you do?"

            The two both laugh this time and get up to leave as the others watch their interlocked hands before they disconnect awkwardly, aware that they are in public. Richie especially, onlooks in envy for reasons that are pretty obvious. His mind goes back to the conversation him and Eddie had, trying to think of anything that might've sounded wrong. Maybe, he was embarrassed to see Richie's little gift for him and didn't want to face him. Eddie could also be actually sick and just couldn't come today and Richie can't blame him if he's alone at his house today since Rosie's still not completely comfortable with him yet. It still sucks though.

            "Hey guys, I'm going to the bathroom." Richie says suspiciously, but the group can take a wild guess about what's really going on so they let him go.

            Once he's out of earshot, Bill turns to Beverly in disappointment, flicking her arm to prove his point.

            "Hey!" She exclaims, holding her arm in the other. "What the hell was that for?"

             "I should be asking you the same question. Where did that come from?" Bill furrows his brows, sealing his lunch bag shut.

            "There's just something off about them. I don't know what it is but I'm too curious to just let it go." Beverly explains, causing the two boys left to look at each other incredulously. The redhead rolls her eyes but keeps going nonetheless. "I say we sneak into their house—"

            "That's a terrible idea." Ben interjects.

            "We've never been to their house."

            "They never invited u-uh-us." Bill argues, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

            "Well, why haven't they? What reason could they have to not invite Richie or Stan? They practically eye-fuck each other everyday, and Rich can't seem to function when Eddie isn't here for one day." Beverly counters, earning unconvinced sighs in response. "If it's a normal home, I'll drop it. I promise."

            To put the odds in her favour, Beverly takes Ben's hand and squeezes it while opening her ocean eyes wider for sympathy. Bill only looks at him as if to tell him 'Don't fall for it,' but it's hard to resist Beverly. Both boys can speak from experience.

            "Fine." Ben reluctantly says, earning a bright smile in return as Beverly punches his shoulders in excitement.

             Bill rolls his eyes, not agreeing with this stupid idea at all but isn't going to be left out at the same time. He only nods, knowing he'll regret the decision later.

            "Bill, you still have your walkie-talkies?"


	16. Alone Time

            **STAN** and Mike decided to spend the rest of their lunch in the art room, with Ms. Harland's supervision of course since she was already in there. Stan was a little dismayed to say the least, hoping to have a more private conversation with Mike but as long as Mike was comfortable, so was he.

            "So you've never had a taco before?" Mike asks, finishing off his primary colours project. He decided to draw a skyline of New York, remembering the rare times when he'd ride the bus to a new assignment and catch a glimpse of the line of buildings that made up the city. It's always stuck in his head and the first thing that came to him when thinking about what to draw.

           "No, I have. I was just looking for an excuse to leave." Stan shrugs, scratching the back of his head as he looks at the finished wrappers that used to hold the two tacos they bought.

            Mike nods, smiling to himself. "Thanks."

            "I don't even know why Bev did that. She is a very curious person though." Stan says.

            "It's fine. I mean, you guys don't really know a lot about me, or Eddie even." Mike says, internally punching himself in the gut for the abundance of secrets being hidden from everyone, especially.

            Stan only sighs before looking down at Mike's drawing, considering if he should say it but he unconsciously starts to speak anyway. "Well, now's a good time as ever to say it. Even if it's just me."

            Mike looks up at Stan the same time he does as well, and Stan can see Mike contemplating if he should answer. They don't even realize how close they actually are.

            "Hey guys." Ms. Harland speaks up from her desk, a knowing smile on her face.

           Both boys move away from each other, forgetting she was even here. And even from all the way at the front of the classroom, Ms. Harland can see how red both boys are.

           "Yes?"

           "I have duty for the last half of lunch, which means I _should_ be kicking you out of the class." She explains, earning disappointing but understanding nods. But she doesn't finish speaking.

            "However, Mike obviously needs to finish his project and I'm pretty sure you guys can't be separated from each other for more than five seconds. So I will leave it to you to lock this room. The key will be on my desk." She leaves the classroom with a small smile but not before Mike catches a tattoo on her ankle. It's a flag with stripes of pink, purple and blue, making Mike's eyes widen.

            Once the door closes, Mike immediately turns to Stan. "Did you see that?"

            Stan furrows his eyebrows, glancing back at the door. "See what?"

            "She's bisexual." Mike says, letting out a breathy laugh.

            "What?" Stan says incredulously, but Mike shakes his head.

            "She has a tattoo of the flag, I swear to god."

            Stan pauses for a moment. "Seriously?"

            "Yes!" Mike exclaims, leaning back in his seat as Stan laughs in disbelief but still can't help but believe him. He always believes what Mike says.

            "You have a keen eye for things." Stan compliments, causing Mike to hang his head low in embarrassment with a small smile. Stan found it to be the most adorable thing ever. "I'm serious."

            "I just like to observe things." Mike says, shrugging as he intricately shades the reflection of a building along the water of his drawing, careful not to smudge the pastel.

            "I can see that." Stan says, pointing the detailed artwork. In all honesty, Stan thinks that Mike's painting is finished and doesn't need anything added onto it but Mike manages to find something new to put on each time. He always admires someone with an observant personality.

            "You're one to talk, Mr. No-Wrinkles." Mike mocks, tilting his head side to side when saying the nickname.

            Stan scoffs, and gestures to the shirt that indeed has no wrinkles "I don't do this for me."

            "Who do you do it for?" Mike asks, absentmindedly cross hatching parts of the drawing that he wants to add shadow to.

            "My father," Stan mumbles.

            Mike perks his head up, only to see Stan playing with the hem of his shirt, trying to smooth it out. He sighs and takes Stan's fidgeting hand, covering it with his own as his thumb rubs circles over it. The more he does it, the more Stan feels himself calming down.

            "Is it possible to be afraid of your father?" Stan asks genuinely, looking between Mike's chocolate brown eyes. He can even make out the little details of his iris, focusing on them to be able to be able to take steady breaths

            "Completely." Mike replies, in a relatable tone. Patrick obviously isn't his father but he's an authoritative figure that has complete control over him unless Mike leaves just like a normal father. However, unlike the beat-by-beat dad that most people are used to having, Mike is deathly afraid of Patrick and can't imagine leaving him at any point. Even with the information about Patrick's true nature, it's merely a fantasy to see him being able to get away with his life from this organization.

            "I'm guessing your father's hard on you too?" Stan questions, staring at their intertwined hands. There's never a time where he doesn't feel safe when Mike's hands are enclosed with his.

            "I just feel like if I ever do something wrong, my life is on the line y'know?" Mike says.

            "Like if you say something that might offend him, he'll disown you with the snap of his fingers." Stan adds on, internally screaming with joy that someone else shares the same problem.

            "But your father loves you, doesn't he?" Mike says, blending two shades of blue with his index finger to get more realistic clouds in the sky.

            "Well yeah." Stan shrugs as if it's obvious, and that's where the connection stops.

            "Mine doesn't."

            Stan shakes his head incredulously. "C'mon Mike—"

            "I'm being dead serious, Stan. He doesn't, it's just business between us. There's no family." Mike explains, realizing how out of touch he is with the concept of family.

            "What do you mean by business?" Stan questions, furrowing his brows. Maybe Mike went a little too overboard.

            "Sorry, it was too strong a word."

             It wasn't.

             "—I just wish my actual father was alive." Mike confesses. He desperately wants to be nine again with his mother and father in their little home where he felt nothing but comfortable and safe everyday. It scares him that every day he forgets more and more about his warm house on the edge of Maine with his parents but instead remembers the cold and isolated facility with faces he couldn't care less to familiarize himself with.

            Stan stares, unsure of what to say and only squeezes his hand in assurance that he's there for Mike as he puts away the pastel and closes the pack, knowing Mike isn't going to be using it anymore. He never thought he would be able to find someone with a similar problem but out of everyone, it's the guy he likes. Stan can't bare to see him so distraught however, and leans his head on Mike's shoulder for comfort. Not for himself though, there's no ounce of selfishness to it, it's just for Mike to feel comfortable.

            At first, Mike tenses up since he's never been so close to someone he has a deep affection for but soon relaxes and observes Stan curls, shining regardless of the fact there's no light coming through the windows.

        "Well just know that your father—your actual father loves you." Stan shrugs, disconnecting their hands to play with Mike's fingers.

            "So does yours," Mike replies. "But you don't need to keep getting crushed under his expectations."

            Stan sighs, "I'll try."

            "You better," Mike smiles as he tickles Stan's stomach. He squirms and chuckles, slapping Mike's hands away. Usually, if someone did that Stan would've fumed but Mike's always gentle with him and he could never find himself getting mad at him.

            "So your mother married Eddie's father?" Stan asks, trying to grasp at the situation. "Because that says a lot about your family."

            Mike just doesn't answer and only hums since Stan is completely wrong but doesn't say anything because it will completely contradict what they were talking about. Mike remembers the cover story being that _Eddie's_ father died and _his_ parents got divorced. But he doesn't care about the whole bullshit cover story anymore. His mind is made up and he's not killing Stan nor is he stealing money that doesn't even belong to Patrick.

            Instead he's going to enjoy his date coming in three days for April Fools and break the news to Patrick that he's out. The boy with his head leaning on Mike's shoulder is now a person he's looking out for other than himself.


	17. Alone With My Thoughts

            Eddie kicks open the rusty metal plated door of the ironworks factory, covering his mouth with his arm to keep away the dust from his nose. Once his eyes adjust, he sees nothing but darkness with exception of dated tiled floors, each one holding a significant crack along the edges. Eddie fishes for his flashlight out of his bag, hissing when he grabs it a little too harshly with his bandaged hand. He takes it out a little more lightly before lingering on the peachy fabric wrapped around his palm. _He was so gentle when he helped me. I didn't even notice he was bandaging my hand._

Eddie dozes off for a second, trying to get those distracting thoughts of soft hands touching his skin and switches the flashlight on, a small brightened view flourishing at the cause of it. His footsteps echo through the hollow walls of the factory as his eyes catch different machinery drowned in cobwebs and dust bunnies. Eventually he comes across an enormous light switch that seemed to power the place when it was still running. Doubtfully knowing it probably won't work, he pushes the lever down and just like he assumed, nothing happens. Eddie only sighs, wondering what he's doing here.

He can't take Richie or Stan here and leave them to die in this dark desolate building. He can only imagine what it would feel like to have the last he thing he sees this place, and he has to do that to Richie and Stan? Eddie runs his hand under his nose to stop the sniffling as he continues to shine his light on any resemblance of a room. The only thing he guesses is preventing him from walking out is Patrick's disappointing yet terrifying gaze on him.

As he walks through, Eddie catches glimpses of bones he's almost sure is human. Some are piled together and some are off to the distance, isolated from the rest as they collect the ever-growing dust from the building. The piles start growing the deeper Eddie goes in one direction, his breathing picking up its pace in curiosity to what exactly caused this explosion.

Suddenly, he hears dripping coming from behind him, something that wasn't making that sound before. Eddie assumes it could be a water tank off in the distance or maybe a rainstorm might be coming, but his mind tells him otherwise. It gives him clues as to what could be causing the dripping and the two options he considered doesn’t make sense. There would be no water tanks in here since this place has been closed for decades and if it's raining there would be multiple dripping sounds but he only hears one. One continuous dripping sound that he detects over and over as if it's trying to haunt him.

He sees his bandaged hand shake as he clutches the flashlight and tries to look over his shoulder, a new sound of footsteps coming out of nowhere. Reflexively, Eddie reaches for his gun and turns around swiftly, holding it up in a offensive stance as whatever it is comes charging toward him. Before he can get a shot at the thing, it wraps his arms around him as if it's hugging him.

Eddie stumbles back, completely caught off guard as to what is happening. His eyes catch glimpse of sandy-brown curls, no longer covered in the red crimson it was before. The figure's height is also about Eddie's height but Eddie still stands taller than him as the figure buries his head into his neck.

He can't even comprehend what he's seeing right now, hesitantly stroking the figures hair as he finally speaks and says "You can save him."

Eddie furrows his eyebrows at the figure, perplexed at his comment. But deep down he knows exactly who this thing is talking about.

"You can save both of them." The figure in that soft innocent voice Eddie became attracted to the more he stayed in Chicago.

"What do you mean?" Eddie asks, growing more and more uncomfortable at this figure's arms around him.

"Just kill Patrick."

The statement startles Eddie so much, he pushes away the figure as his whole body shakes in fear to what would happen if ever even _attempted_ to kill Patrick. The amount of people and money he has is insane and they wouldn't just let him die so easily. Plus, once he dead, what would happen to the people who worked for him? _Are there people who genuinely stay loyal to him and would avenge his death? Would any family members come after him? Did he even have family?_ He thinks to himself.

"It's not that simple." Eddie shakes his head and flicks his eyes up to meet Dylan's hazel-green ones. Come to think of it, he looks much more cleaner than he was the last time Eddie saw him.

"But it is. You kill him, there's no one to give anymore orders." Dylan explains, hugging his arms around his waist like he always did when he really wanted to talk about something.

"But I owe my life to Patrick and this money he needs is part of the debt I owe to him." Eddie argues but knows that what he's saying is bullshit.

"Do you really believe it's his money?"

Eddie hesitates. "Y-Yeah."

"So are you going to kill Richie for him?" Dylan asks, causing Eddie's stomach to flip at the boy's name. He almost forgot about how he had to kill Richie for him. That's why he's in this dumb factory in the first place.

"I don't know." Eddie shrugs, overcome with a dilemma that he doesn't know how to answer. How is he supposed to make up his mind before the two and half weeks are up?

"What do you mean?" Dylan questions "You would rather live in fear of crossing Patrick instead of a life with your newfound friends? With Richie?"

The latter does actually sound much better. After graduating, him and Richie—possibly Bev and Ben—would be living a normal college life in the big apple with no worry of anyone coming after them. He could be happy with them, he could learn how to smile.

"It sounds good doesn't it?" Dylan smiles, tilting his head.

Eddie's mind then narrows. "What about Patrick?"

"Kill him and run away. You can Richie live if you kill him and run away."

_You can let him live if you run away._

Though he desperately wants to, he can't bring himself to killing Patrick. But he can compromise and maybe if he can convince Mike as well, they can keep both Richie and Stan alive. Of course, it would be hard to get Mike to budge on a situation like this since he's so entitled to the code but Eddie could give it a try. However, his mind strongly disagrees

"Eddie, you've killed more people than you can count. What makes Patrick any different?" Dylan furrows his brows.

"Patrick is the person who told me to do it. He has authority over me and it can't change—"

"Unless you kill him." Dylan intercepts, but there's no echo response in the room. It reminds him that he's not actually here in this room with him.

Eddie only shakes his head and adjusts his backpack, concluding that coming here was a giant waste of time but he definitely did learn something. If he could bargain something for Richie's life than maybe Patrick will let him go free. He may even be able to free himself if he deals his cards right. It's ambitious yes, and it may not work but he has to try.


	18. Investigators

 

"B-Squad, do you copy?" Beverly says into the walkie-talkie, her body pressed up against the walls of the alleyway as she watches Stan and Mike walk from the park to the diner. Her bike lies on the ground in close reach, ready to be ridden when the time comes for Mike to go home. She is determined to find out whatever is going on with the two boys who came out of nowhere.

"I never agreed to that name." Bill says through Beverly's speaker with a static reception since the distance is so far. The girl rolls her eyes and sits on the floor, knowing it'll be awhile until they come out of there.

"Just shut up and wait for Eddie." She says, tucking a piece of her curls behind her ear.

"I d-duh-don't even think he's here."  Bill suggests, trying to get a good look through Richie's windows for any sign of the small boy.

"Bev, do we have to wait for this long?" Ben buts in, leaning on the handles of his bike as he waits for any sign of either boys on the intersection of Jackson and Witcham street. "What if they both end up sleeping over at Richie and Stan's house?"

"Well we won't know unless we wait." Beverly shrugs, watching as the door opens with Stan and Mike, holding plastic bags in their hands. She watches as Stan plants a kiss on Mike's cheek to say bye before scurrying away awkwardly as Mike says bye back to him, clearly flustered as well. She steps back a little more so he doesn't see her as he walks by, too lost in his own thoughts to notice her.

"I've got eyes." Beverly says, throwing her leg over her bike and slowly pedaling behind Mike as he races the roads of Derry.

"Keep your distance, okay?" Ben says with an ounce of worry, suspecting Beverly's assumptions could miraculously be right. He doesn't know what he would do if Beverly's hurt.

"Duh-Does that mean I have to keep w-wuh-waiting for Eddie?" Bill asks, boredom laced in his tongue.

"Yes, we have to make sure he won't be behind Bev." Ben says, turning his course to the Tozier household to keep Bill company. "I'll go to you."

"Thank god," Bill mumbles, catching a glimpse of Eddie's slick brown hair in Richie's room.

Eddie's really only there to keep Richie company, but mostly because he's trying to avoid Mike so he can't tell him the bargain he wants to make. He knows Mike will disagree and he doesn't want to face the negative backlash. Plus he had to make up for not going to Richie's house yesterday since he had to go to the Ironworks factory.

He sits on Richie's now clean desk after he offered that they begin cleaning Richie's room together and so far they had finished his closet and desk but still had ways to go in regards to the floor, bed and walls. Yes, even the walls.

"I couldn't find the rubber gloves!" Richie exclaims as he walks in the room, his hands jittery with excitement. Eddie had to watch as he drank a full can of an energy drink, saying he needed to "power up."

Eddie frowns. "Did you check under the sink, that's where I put them a few days ago."

Richie opens his mouth to rebuttal but soon realizes that he didn't check under the sink and just goes back down the stairs in defeat. Eddie chuckles and stands up from the seat, joining Richie downstairs as Bill looks from a distance in silence and boredom, unaware of anything going on inside the house.

"Do you think they've kissed yet?" Ben asks as he approaches Bill, pushing down the kickstand of his bike so he can sit on the floor.

Bill scoffs, "Definitely not."

"Yeah, me neither." Ben sighs, tapping his knees rhythmically. "Jeez, I feel like a stalker."

"Yeah, same. Why'd we agree t-to this?" Bill asks, genuinely unsure himself.

"Because we're idiots." Ben says, and the boys burst into laughter, leaning into each other for stability.

Suddenly, a loud crash is heard from the Tozier household and the two boys outside the house share a concerned but knowing look.

"Richie's the bigger idiot though." Ben gestures to the house as a loud "fuck!" can be heard through Bill and Ben's ears perfectly. Bill snorts at the sound of it, thinking of all the possible ways Richie would have broken something.

"Richie! I told not to pick up the damn pot!" Eddie scolds from inside the house, holding the broken handle while Richie holds the actual pot.

"The gloves wuh all the way unda there! The hell wos I s'ppose to do?" Richie replies in a very convincing australian accent. Eddie tries to hold in a laugh at the impression, but the smile gives it away and Richie points it out, melting at the sight of it.

"Don't try to hold it in! It's funny!" Richie says, causing Eddie to escape his laughs as he throws the broken handle of the pot back in the garbage.

"What the fuck are we supposed to tell your parents?" Eddie asks, earning only a shrug in response.

"Earthquake?"

"Fuck off."

As the two boys deal with the whole broken pot situation, Ben's walkie-talkie statics, interrupting his conversation with Bill about watching Michael Keaton's batman at Ben's house again.

"Ben, do you copy?" Beverly asks, her voice raspy due to the dying connection of the walkie-talkies.

"Yeah, we're still waiting here." Ben replies, earning a tumultuous nod from Bill. "Have you gotten to their house yet?"

"No, they don't even live in the neighbourhood. I'm literally at the edge of Derry." Beverly explains, earning furrowed brows from both boys in response. "But I see Mike turning into a house with a farm, so I think I'm getting close."

"Okay, just be careful."

"When am I not?"

"All the damn time?"

"Whatever."

Beverly pulls on the brakes of bike, waiting for Mike to walk into his house and watches him take out a secret key from under the mat to unlock the front door.  She decides to leave her bike near the railing and takes fast but quiet steps towards the farm, her mind coming up with morbid ideas as to what could be in there. Maybe dead bodies? Or a collection of animal heads? A cult circle? They're wild assumptions but anything can happen in Derry.

Beverly hugs the wall of the house, ducking under the windows to make sure she's not seen, peeking every once in while to find Mike eating the food he bought at the diner as he watches a rerun of Full House. Her heart beats out of her chest as she prays not be seen, quickly stepping across the front porch of the house, making her footsteps as quiet as possible.

A relieved smile spreads across her face as she gets closer to the farm, looking behind her to see if Mike notices her yet. Lucky for her, he hasn't but she can't escape that gut feeling that he'll see her eventually. Nonetheless, she keeps her head high (figuratively of course, she still doesn't want him to see her) and rushes over to barn, slowly opening the door to prevent any creaks or moans. Beverly fishes for her flashlight and turns it on, shining towards something she never expected to see but did at the same time.

An array of firearms are hung up on the wall, causing the redhead to gasp out loud. She scans through them in awe, wondering how Mike and Eddie's family managed to get them. She suspects they aren't ormal but not necessarily dangerous enough to be carrying dozens of weapons. Her flashlight then caught the sight of sandbags hung up with targets drawn in the middle of them. What brings shivers to her spine is the fact that all of the bullet holes are directly in the middle of the target.

"Calm down Bev. They may just be deathly American." She swallows, trailing over to a desk a files and papers. She opens one that has Eddie's name printed on it, but it only says Eddie Kaspbrak not Eddie Hanlon-Kaspbrak. Beverly opens the file and finds a picture of Richie when he was thirteen or fourteen years old with his buck teeth and coke bottle glasses. She almost forgot Richie looked like this. How does Eddie even have this picture?

She sets it down and finds multiple photos of the Hockstetter family, people she hasn't seen since she was ten or so. In the photo, Mr. Hockstetter was being put into a police car while Richie and Stan's dad watched in the background with relief flashed upon their faces. Beverly remembers that day, her and the group decided to become mini investigators and traced the whole money-stealing fiasco to the Hockstetter family. Stan and Richie were the ones to directly call the cops since it was their parents that got screwed over the most and they made a big enemy that day, Patrick Hockstetter. It didn't help that he was eighteen the day his father was arrested but he moved shortly after so Beverly never thought of him again.

But why did Eddie and Mike have all of this information and pictures? What's their deal with Richie?

Slowly, she reminds herself that she hasn't checked Mike's and opens it to see a school picture of Stan at thirteen or fourteen as well.

"What the hell?" Beverly mumbles, thinking about how those two pairs of boys spend almost every second of everyday together. Are they trying to get information out of them? Are Mike and Eddie even brothers?

Before she can answer the question, however, she flinches at the sound of a gun cocking behind her, squeezing her eyes shut.


	19. Beverly Knows

**MIKE** keeps a firm hold on his glock, pressing it against the intruder's head. He hopes they don't feel how his hand shakes furiously at the mere thought of having to kill them for finding all this information. Patrick never said that anyone who trespasses should immediately be killed but it was definitely implied when he said it. It's been second nature for Mike to execute someone who dares to vacate the premises but after all the lies, he doesn't feel the urge to do so anymore.

            Come to think of it, he doesn't even know why he brought the gun in the first place. He hates that his first intuition is murder or intimidation. Mike doesn't want to be intimidating, no matter how much Patrick has said that his strong build is fitting for this job. He wants a person to think he's approachable, easy to talk to, instead of them looking at his size or his colour.band immediately thinking the worst. Granted, his colour would get him a whole other set of attention that he has definitely received while being here. Mostly the occasional glance and a rare _"I didn't know people like them attended our school."_

            But anyway, he wants and needs to get better. The person in front of him will be the first to witness it. However, the more more he looks at the back of the person's head, the more he starts to see things that he's seen before. The most obvious feature is their fiery red curls that stop at their neck as well as the red blouse he remembered seeing today at school. Then there's the necklaces around their neck that the person he thinks this is wears everyday. _Oh shit oh fuck._

           "Beverly?" He breathes out, slowly lowering the gun to his side. The trembling redhead turns around at the same pace, tears glistening her eyes. They don't fall but they're on the verge of it.

            "Are you gonna shoot me?" Beverly asks, eyeing the gun intensely. _That's what you get for snooping_ , _Marsh_. She tells herself.

            Mike shakes his head, knowing that would never be an option for him and for now, never will be an option for anyone unless they deserve it. "Of course not, I'd never do that to you."

            "Would you do that to anyone else?"

            Mike sighs and runs a hand through his hair, turning around and motioning for Beverly to follow him. He might as well tell her the whole situation since he doesn't plan on doing this whole organization thing anymore. The only thing he's worried about is how Beverly will react, and more importantly, if she'll tell anyone. Like Stan.

            How could one mission turn upside down so quickly?

            "Why do you have so many guns? Why do you live out here? And why do have those pictures of Stan and Richie?" She asks, a boatload of more questions itching her tongue.

            "It's a very long story, and I'd love to tell you but I don't know how much time we have." Mike answers, slipping the gun in his pocket as he opens the barn doors.

            "We have as much as I'll give you. And I'm not going anywhere until I know the whole story."

            Mike scoffs, "You might stop believing half-way through."

            Beverly raises an eyebrow, "You'd be surprised. Seriously."

            Mike stops walking, causing Beverly to stumble behind him as she starts to shrink under Mike's intense gaze, something she's not used to. She desperately wants to know what's going on, that's the whole reason she came here. But the truth always reveals something that she doesn't necessarily want to know. Especially if it changes her whole perspective on the budding romances between Eddie and Richie and Mike and Stan.

           "I'm gonna make tea." Mike says.

            "Why?"

            "It'll calm you down and lowers my chances of getting attacked."

 

                          ▼▼▼

 

            Beverly chugs down the rest of her tea once Mike finishes talking, taking in everything he just said. She's not mad at Mike in the slightest, it doesn't make sense for her to be mad at someone who was forced into something they didn't want to do. But the people Mike has had to kill... Jesus.

            "How many confirmed kills do you have?" She says, downing the last drop of green tea in her cup.

            "There's a record but I'm not sure myself." Mike says, fiddling with his hands as he observes Beverly's reaction from across the coffee table. _She doesn't seem to be mad, that's a good sign_. He thinks.

            "I knew Patrick was crazy but I didn't think he was this psychotic." Beverly mutters, placing the empty cup on the table. Mike furrows his brows in response to what she says, however.

            "You knew him?"

            "Knew him? He went to our school. He was held back for god-knows how long. When we were five, he was thirteen and only in fifth grade." Beverly says, leaning back into the couch.

            "What was he like?" Mike asks, genuinely curious as to how he was here. He remembers Dave at the bank telling him about Patrick's little brother and how he killed him, but that's just one civilian's perspective of the situation. There could dozens of different stories from other people. He chooses to listen to Beverly's though, hers just feels like the right one.

            "He was no better than how you explained him. Here, he was a bully who mostly picked on our group simply because we were easy targets. Bill has his stutter, Stan's jewish, Ben was fatter when he was younger, Richie couldn't keep his mouth shut, and there were rumors about me sleeping with every guy in school—"

            Mike frowns at the mention of all the oppression the group faced as kids, exclusively Stan, just because of his religion. What bullshit.

            "And outside of school?" She lets out a breathy scoff, giving Mike the memo that he acted the same, possibly even worse. "He always hung out with these guys named Henry, Victor and Belch. We called them the Bowers gang because Henry was the definitive leader. Patrick was really close with him and tried to do everything in his power to get his attention."

            "Someone told me Patrick—he killed his own brother?"

            Beverly nodded. "He did it for Henry. Some people'll tell you it was for the organization you're apart of and getting rid of the competition, but it was for Henry. For some reason, Henry liked preying on children or experimenting with them, I guess, to see how long they'd last. They took a kid who wasn't smart enough to stay inside at night and lock them inside claustrophobic spaces for days on end. Sometimes, they'd survive and other times..." She trails off but Mike understands, a pit of guilt building up in his stomach for working for such a monster.

            "Jesus." Mike sighs, stroking his chin anxiously.

            "Yeah-uh. Don't tell him you know, but Patrick caught Richie and stuffed him in the trunk of a car they found on an abandoned road that no one uses anymore. He was trapped in there for two days before Belch and Victor decided to tell us where he was. Them telling us actually cost them their lives. Patrick killed them."

            Mike shudders, a rare response to hearing someone being killed.

            "Richie was in the hospital for a week and super distraught. After he was let out, he didn't talk for months. I mean he was nine at the time, that fucks a kid up. That's the real reason why we don't eat in the cafeteria." Beverly scratches her head as if reliving the memory in her head hurts. Mike knew he could relate to Stan because of the overbearing father figures, but the traumatic pasts from every single loser makes him wonder if they were all destined to meet.

            "His therapist suggested it, thinking his PTSD would act up if he was in such a condensed area for too long. None of us rejected it because why would we? The therapist also suggested that we never bring up Patrick's name at all because it may trigger memories. He's been able to mention Henry's name but not the rest. We don't really know why." Beverly said.

            Anger welled up inside Mike the more and more Beverly went on. How could he not know all of this? For such an observant person, you'd think Mike would pick up some hints to Patrick's true intentions. That he was working for a psychotic asshole.

            "I wasn't here during what happen next  because I had to move for personal reasons but Stan almost got taken by Henry and Patrick and the group managed to save him before any real damage was done to him like they did to Richie. They called the police on Henry and Patrick and, miraculously, traced all the cases of missing children back to them. Henry was sent to an asylum but Patrick was let off the hook because of his father."

            "Did he bail him out or something?"

            "I guess," Beverly shrugs. "Patrick made the boys' lives a living hell and the whole money-withdrawal situation happened, especially to Richie and Stan."

            Mike rubs his forhead over and over again, trying to erase any resemblance of loyalty for a man who tortured and murdered children for fun. Maybe, that's the whole reason he has this organization, just for the hell of it. He probably laughs as he bathes in his riches after hearing someone he probably just didn't like has been killed. And the fact he went after Richie and Stan for the sake of revenge? He was just looking for an excuse to kill them because he held a stupid grudge.

            "You can't tell them I told you this. It's scary dealing with their PTSD and it's too much for me to handle." She demands, a vicious undertone in her voice. Mike nods immediately since he doesn't plan on telling Stan about this whole fiasco anytime soon. But what now?

            "So you know what I do..." Mike trails off, hoping for some sort of answer. He doesn't care if it's positive or negative, he wants to hear what Beverly's going to do.

           "I'm not going to tell the others." Beverly softens.

            Mike lets out a breath.

            "Cause you and Eddie are."

            Mike chokes on his breath.

            "Wha-Why?"

            "Are you kidding me? Imagine what Stan's gonna think if someone else tell him your whole relationship was built on a lie." Beverly says.

            "It was _not_ built on a lie." Mike says defensively.

            "You wouldn't have met him if it wasn't for this assignment. Stan is sensitive, he's going to think it was an obligation for you to start talking to him." Beverly says heatedly before taking a breath. "Unless it comes from you, Stan is going to think you don't actually like him and I know for a fact that's not true."

            Mike pinches his nose, overridden with genuine fear. He knows Beverly's right about Stan, she's known him far longer than him. Plus, from what Mike has gathered, Stan is the type of person to completely cut himself off from anyone who betrays him. But that's exactly why Mike doesn't want to tell Stan about the organization. How does he know Stan won't act differently than how he'd act if someone else told him?

            "I don't know, Beverly." He sighs, tapping his foot anxiously and biting the nail of his thumb.

            "You guys have that date in two days, right?" Beverly asks, trying her best to come up with a plan.

            Mike nods.

            "Tell him tomorrow so he knows that you aren't trying to wait until after the date to be selfish. And make sure to tell him how you feel or it won't work out. Stan'll be mad for a little while but he'll forgive you." Beverly advises. "But tell him how you feel about him or it won't work out."

            "I'll try." Mike bites his lip, the butterflies welling up inside his stomach at the thought of confronting Stan. He's always learned to put himself before others and though this is foreign, Mike is willing to put at least one life before his. And that reminds him of the person who is causing this whole situation.

            "What about Patrick? He's got hundreds of people working for him."

            Beverly sucks in a breath but knows her words are the only solution. "We gotta take him out. Maybe kill him."

            "That's a solution for you?"

            "Mike, all of us has faced death in one way or another. I'm not afraid to make someone else face it, or even succumb to it. Especially someone like Patrick."


	20. Downhill

            **THE** table is awkward and silent. Nobody really knows why, but everyone has a clue yet they don't want to say it out loud. So much happened yesterday, however, no one bothered to share it at the table like they usually did. All anyone hears is the small spring breeze and the distant chatter of students with too much to say.

            You'd probably think Richie and Eddie are okay though, right? Since they had the time of their lives cleaning Richie's overbearingly messy room. Well, they were... until Rosie showed up.

            Taking the chance to confide in Richie after they had bonded at breakfast a few days go, Rosie told him she was going to a party with Preston on tomorrow night and asked him to cover for her. Richie immediately said no, knowing what goes on at a high school party. He's been to them and has gotten drunk on multiple occasions, but he's never stayed for too long because of how claustrophobic he'd get from the increasing amount of people that kept coming into the house. Regardless, high school parties are places for horny teens to lose their virginity and Richie wasn't letting his little sister be one of them.

            Rosie argued that Preston would never pressure her into doing something she doesn't want to do, but Richie wasn't having it. He claimed that he knew Preston much better than she did and his intentions were always selfish. The argument got more heated as Eddie watched helplessly between the siblings once again, holding the broken pot in his hands. He wondered how they were able to live under the same roof for so long since every time he sees them, they're at each other's throats.

            It was Richie who ended the argument, however, in the worst way possible. He still contemplates if Rosie believed it, but by the way she ran upstairs rubbing her eyes, he's sure she did.

            He said: _The only reason Preston is with you is to get back at me! He's gay and he's kissed me before. I rejected him and he's been trying to fuck with me ever since. He doesn't like you and he never will!_

            Rosie only responded with: _I hate you, and left._

            Thinking back on it, Richie thinks he was too harsh on her. There could've been a better way to say it, but he was so overridden with anger that crushing her beliefs seemed like the best thing to do.

            Eddie tried to comfort him but Richie only sighed and hid inside his bed, the only perfectly clean part of his room.

            With the 'b-squad,' Beverly didn't tell them the information she found at Mike's, even with Ben and Bill pressing her about it. Ben, especially, grew upset at Beverly's reluctance to tell him since she's the one who dragged him into this whole situation in the first place. Bill didn't seem to mind as much but still had his suspicions as to what she saw.

            Those three aren't as quiet as the rest of them as Ben and Beverly talk discreetly amongst themselves about going to the April Fools Fair and Bill starts an outline for his next drawing of Georgie. However, Beverly does share an occasional glance with Mike as if to communicate 'tell him already.'

            With Mike and Stan, it's pretty obvious but Stan just doodles in his journal, confused. He has absolutely no idea why Mike is so silent today. At first, he wondered if Mike was having second thoughts about their date tomorrow, but Stan knows Mike would have told him if that was the case. Mike, on the other hand, felt his hand shaking every two seconds at the thought of telling Stan, as well as Eddie. He's unaware of the fact Beverly knows about the organization, Mike declined to share that information with him. He couldn't tell Eddie yesterday because he was so distraught about what happened at Richie's house.

            So yeah, basically everyone feels like shit.

            Eddie is the first person to move, taking his notebook out of his bag and opening it to the back page. A series of numbers and letters catch Richie's attention as he leans towards Eddie for a good look. Even in a shitty mood, Eddie's stomach flutters at the close proximity.

            "What's that?" He speaks up, the first clear thing anyone has said since lunch started.

            Eddie clears his throat. "It's a code I've been making." The group turn their heads to the two boys, desperate for conversation.

            "What are you making a c-c-code for?" Bill asks, causing Mike and Beverly to share a look.

            "Fun, I guess." Eddie shrugs, writing down a series of numbers in a row.

            "How d-d-does it work?"

            "Well, the numbers correspond with the letters of the alphabet. The letter 'A' would be 1, 'B' would be 2, and so on." Eddie explains.

            "Can I try?" Richie asks, more indulged in the concept than he should be. Eddie only nods and slides the notebook in front of Richie, watching as he writes a series of numbers. Every few seconds, Richie gets distracted by Eddie's shoulder brushing his, attempting to get a good look at what he writes. He's been trying to not let things like that happen, but it becomes more difficult with each passing day.

            Eventually, he leans back and grins as he slides it back to Eddie. The boy gives him a confused expression but deciphers it nonetheless.

      5 4 4 9 5   19 16 1 7 8 5 20 20 9 

6 15 18   20 8 5   18 5 19 20 9 5

            Eddie groans and rolls his eyes, turning his gaze to an innocently smiling Richie. "Are you fucking kidding me? Are you five?"

            "Well, I am a kid at heart." Richie says, patting his left chest.

            "What'd he write?" Beverly asks.

            "He wrote ' _Eddie spaghetti for the restie._ "

            Beverly snorts, "Why am I not surprised?"

            "Why are you surprised that you're not surprised?" Richie raises an eyebrow, trying to act smarter than he actually is.

           "That made no sense," Stan buts in, taking a look at Eddie's codes.

            "It actually kinda does." Eddie argues, regretting it almost instantaneously.

            "Hah, Staniel! Spaghetti man is on my side!" Richie exclaims, throwing his arm around the shorter boy.

            "I'm not on anyone side." Eddie says and turns to Mike who sits uncharacteristically quieter than usual. "Who's side are you on, Mike?"

            "Huh?" Mike says, dazed.

            "Yeah, Mikey," Richie encourages. "Who's side are you on?"

            Mike isn't even paying attention, but takes a wild guess and says "Stan."

            "Of course," Richie scoffs. Mike only shrugs and looks back down at the table, lost in his thoughts.

            Eddie looks around as if to ask for help, but no one seems to have the answer. Maybe, Mike had a nightmare last night? Something could've happened with Stan (He looks fine though). Did Patrick call him? Threaten him?

            "You g-g-guys don't have anything important going on after lunch, right?" Bill says, as if to answer Eddie's prayer. The group murmurs "no" in different variations, causing the boy to smile.

            "Great! G-Get your things, losers." He closes his sketchbook, and stuffs it inside his bag, motioning everyone to do the same.

            "What? Why?" Ben asks, putting away his lunch nonetheless as everyone else does the same. There's never a doubt that they don't listen to Bill, something they've always been compelled to do since they met him but there's usually a catch.

            "It's awkward and I don't like it. I'm pretty sure all of us are stressed and staying here isn't going to help that." Bill says, not realizing the absent stutter but too indulged in what he's saying to care. "Take anything you need from your locker and meet at the west entrance where the bike rack is."

             Eddie and Mike stare, stunned, while the rest of the group simply nod and grab their things, used to it. Maybe Bill doesn't always stutter, apparently.

             "C'mon Spaghetti," Richie says, tapping Eddie's shoulder. "We gotta fetch the biology homework."

            "Since when did you care about doing biology work?"

            "Since you did," Richie says nonchalantly and walks forward, missing the red cheeks on Eddie's face. His eyes immediately trail down to his bandaged hand as he caresses it softly, the throbs of pain diminishing with every passing day.

 

                          ▼▼▼

 

            For two people that have a date tomorrow, Mike and Stan are really silent with each other. Despite the fact they're walking side by side with their bikes in hand, no conversation seems to start. Stan's too afraid to start and Mike knows how to start but doesn't want to. He has to tell Stan the truth but he can't deal with the backlash.

            But did it have to be today? Before the date Mike has been anticipating throughout the week? He wants to enjoy himself before it all goes to shit. They can enjoy themselves tomorrow and then Mike can break the news, that way it won't be as bad when he does tell him.

            Suddenly the chirping of a bird snaps both boys' gazes towards the sound, Mike seeing the curl of Stan's lips.

            "That's a cardinal, right?" Mike asks, having brushed up his knowledge on birds. And for a second, Stan looks at him as if he might get down on one knee. No one has ever took the time to study something he likes for him.

            "Yeah, how'd you know?"

             "Wild guess?" Mike says, causing Stan to chuckle. "I guess I started reading about bird callings and picked up the sounds."

            "Why?"

            "Because I like talking to you and what better way to start a conversation then by talking about your favourite hobby."

            Stan blushes, "Thanks."

            Mike smiles and turns his attention back to the wood trail, his eyes catching the edge of the quarry where Bill had stopped. His curiosity spikes as to what they're doing here but when Bill starts slipping off his shirt, he gets a pretty good idea.

            "We're jumping off?" Eddie questions, dropping his bike where Richie and Bill dropped theirs.

            "Yeah, we do it all the time." Beverly says, slipping of her shoes and putting them next to Ben's shorts. Bill then runs past them and jumps into the murky green water, letting out a wolf howl as he descends. Eddie runs to check if he's okay and sighs in relief when Bill emerges from the water, laughing.

            "C'mon Eddie Spaghetti, we're not getting any younger," Richie says behind Eddie as he turns around to see him shirtless.

            Eddie chokes on his breath.

            It's not like there's much to see but Eddie's brain can't help but think... dirty. He's never thought about this before when they've hung out... vividly. And he feels like a fourth grader finding out about sex for the first time when his fingers tingle at the thought of them running down Richie's bare chest. He feels his body ripple a series of shivers as his cheeks flush red. Fantasies of what might happen if they were alone fill his mind, no distractions, no one seeing if they were to—

            Eddie immediately turns to face the cliff where a laughing Bill Denbrough awaits at the bottom. _Stop thinking about it! Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it!_

            But as if to make matters worse, Eddie feels Richie's body heat radiating off him the closer he gets, and tugs on the collar of his shirt, his fingertips grazing Eddie's neck. _Fuck_.

            "Clothes don't take themselves off," Richie remarks with his stupid smile as Beverly springs off the edge, an exhilarated scream escaping her lips.

            "Well, can you not stand so close to me?" Eddie says, desperate to sound annoyed, trying to cover up the fact he could collapse at any second. Respectfully, Richie obliges and puts his hands up in defence, but still eyes Eddie intently.

            Rarely does Eddie ever feel himself shrink under someone's gaze with the exception of Patrick for obvious reasons, but Richie makes him do so with such ease he questions if he's actually that hard-skinned assassin that Patrick trained him to be. Within the course of a couple weeks, Richie has been able to deconstruct and break his walls down significantly as opposed to Patrick who has known him for years and still doesn't even know Eddie's vulnerabilities. Whether that's a good or bad thing, Eddie doesn't know but what he does know is that he's whipped. I mean, he can barely keep it together when he sees Richie without a shirt. He has Eddie wrapped around his finger and doesn't even realize it.

            Even with that realization, Eddie manages to pull of his clothes (all while Richie watches in admiration and, once again, feels that twitch) and dives into the murky green waters of the quarry. Richie follows shortly with a "was it so bad?" and Eddie only splashes him in response, swimming away when he catches a look of determination flash on Richie's face.

            "You're gonna wish you hadn't done that, Eddie Spaghetti," He says in a deep terminator-like Australian accent. Eddie laughs at how surprisingly good the impersonation is before being silenced by a giant wave of water crashing onto his face. Thus begins the splash war that takes up a quarter of their time while Ben and Beverly watch with knowing smiles on their faces, his arms around her waist.

            "I guess that's one way to relieve sexual tension," Ben says with squinted eyes, noticing the way Richie tries to graze Eddie's arm every five seconds and how Eddie still manages to be undress Richie with his eyes even though he's already half naked. Beverly nods in agreement before his eyes shift to a calmer Stanley and Mike having a quiet conversation as they point to the softly swaying evergreens every once in a while. Stan, surprisingly laughs after everything Mike says, trying his damndest to diverge his eyes away from Mike's toned abs.

             Being the observer she is, it's clear to her Mike hasn't told Stan a thing and it worries her. She wants Stan to understand and take the time to really listen to Mike but the urge to tell everyone is eating her away inside and it's getting harder to hold in. Adding onto that, Mike keeps digging himself into a deeper hole that he may not have the strength to climb out of, but she knows it's ultimately up to him.

            All she hopes is that Mike tells him after this.

 

                        ▼▼▼

 

            Mike had not told Stan about the situation, but wishes he did.

            As he rides home with Eddie riding beside him, he acknowledges the fact he knows Beverly's right about how Stan'd react. Considering she's been friends with him for God knows how long, it would be weird if she didn't. But he couldn't shake thinking about the look of disappointment that would flash upon Stan's eyes when he would tell him. Yes, Mike is definitely being selfish about it but he's too blinded by the fear of confrontation to realize. Plus, he has one other thing to worry about, Eddie. The news he has for him is something Mike can't wait for, it's far too important. Eddie needs to know that Mike is out, no matter if he agrees or not (which Mike won't take into consideration. For once, he couldn't care less what Eddie thinks).

            Eddie, on the other hand, is daydreaming. The sign saying 'Come to Derry again!' passes without him nor the boy beside him noticing, his eyes focused on the road ahead of him. Eddie places a hand on the boy's thigh with a smile on his face, the windows rolled down as his head stuck out like a dog's, wind tearing through his face. Some stupid pop song plays on the radio, but all Eddie can hear is the sweet sounds of the boy's laugh blessing his ears with—

            "Eddie!" Mike calls, causing the dozed boy to swerve his bike before hitting a large rock in his direction. His mind is stuck on whether to thank Mike or tell him off. "Dude, I've been calling your name."

            "Wha-huh?" Eddie stammers.

            Mike rolls his eyes, "I wanted to tell you something."

            It's at that moment, Eddie realizes he needs to tell Mike his decision as well but nods to let Mike go first. He thinks it's pretty obvious what he's going to tell him and Eddie can't lie, Stan isn't too rough around the edges. Though it's against Patrick, Eddie has no problem with Mike liking Stan.

            "It's about the organization."

            That's not exactly what Eddie was expecting. "What are you talking about?"

            Mike takes a deep breath and takes in Eddie's confusion, praying he'll understand. "I don't want to do it anymore."

            An incredulous pause. "Like-Like you don't want to work for Patrick? The same Patrick who took you in and gave you the opportunity to gain a sense of independence."

            Mike cringes, "He didn't give me a sense of independence, he manipulated me into thinking the only thing that matters is me. And, Eddie, he's fucking psychotic—"

            "Are you kidding me, Mike? Just because you fell for a guy, you're going to abandon your number one principle?" Eddie furrows his eyebrows. There's hypocrisy in his words, but what Mike said about Patrick, the only sense of a mentor Eddie has had in his life makes his statement come out like word-vomit.

            "Like you wouldn't do that for Richie?" And that's where it comes back to bite him. Having Mike said that, it does give Eddie the chance to give his own suggestion.

            "That's why I think we should make the decision to negotiate with Patrick. We could try to persuade him into leaving Stan and Richie alone. With all the things we've done for him, he might agree."

            As if the dumbest sentence that has ever been spoken comes out of Eddie's mouth, Mike lets out a sarcastic laugh that echoes for miles out, it seems. "You honestly think that's going to work? We both know Patrick isn't like that."

            "I've known Patrick a lot longer than you," Eddie scoffs.

            "Well, Beverly has known him even longer." The words come out more like a clapback than a legitimate argument as Mike doesn't realize what he said until seeing Eddie's shocked reaction. He closes his eyes, processing Mike's words and then it clicks.

            " _Beverly knows_?" He asks, pulling the breaks on his bike, making Mike stop as well.

            "I didn't tell her, she figured out! What was I supposed to do?" Mike says, jitters in his stomach.

            "Oh, I don't know—Lie?!" Eddie says, an elevation in his voice, stating it like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

            "She walked into the shed. What would I tell her then?"

            "That our family is deathly American!" Eddie throws his hands up before placing them back on the handlebars of his bike. Mike rolls his eyes and starts walking his bike, Eddie following in suit. "Did she tell anyone—"

            "—No—"

            "And how do you know?"

            "Did you see anyone acting out of the ordinary? She promised me she wouldn't tell."

            "You can't just take her word for it—"

            Mike can't help but snap, throwing his bike down on the hot gravel. "Yes I can, Eddie! Cause for once, I feel totally comfortable with telling someone that isn't you, a secret. That facility isn't where we should be and you know it. I know you feel out of place in that place, surrounded by men five to ten years older than you. Every time we've met someone our own age, we've had to kill them or kidnap them or threaten them because we want to save our own asses. I'm tired of living like that. And  you were right, sometimes it's good to change perspective especially when the guy you're working for has been lying to you for years!"

            Eddie swallows his words and looks at Mike with wide eyes. It's not fun seeing him angry, especially when he looks like the type of person who could dropkick you with zero effort. But he could feel Mike's pain and unfortunately see where he's coming from. You're asking for a miracle from heaven above if you want Patrick to compromise with you. It does raise the question, though.

            "What do you mean, lying?"

 

                         ▼▼▼

 

            Eddie's eyes stayed glued to the floor for the entire story, the drops of his tears slowly evaporating from the floor. Mike went into excruciating detail and didn't hold back which Eddie greatly appreciated, until he brought up Richie's involvement. He felt his heart freeze and shatter at the mention of Richie's entrapment, a traumatizing part of the boy's life that Eddie is surprised he bounced back from. However, it hurts to know Richie's too good at masking his past.

            His whole viewpoint on Patrick has washed away and it's a lot to handle. It makes sense for Mike to take in the information easier than Eddie, he doesn't know Patrick ike Eddie does. Contrary to his opinions now, he thought Patrick was his saviour, his angel in disguise, his opportunity to stop being the wuss he was like his mother raised him. Patrick showed him how to take control of a situation and get back at those who underestimate him. He made Eddie feel powerful and, as much as he didn't want to admit, his first kill felt good.

            The man's name was Moose Sadler as Patrick called him and his 'crime' was personal. The two had hunted him down to Chicago where he had succumb to the influences of heroine in the rundown alleyways of the city. Patrick told Eddie that he had been responsible for the deaths of many children in his hometown. He'd trap vulnerable kids in small spaces like refrigerators or car trunks from the local junkyard to see how long they'd last. Sometimes they'd pull through and other times, they wouldn't, Patrick's younger brother, Avery, being one of them.

           Eddie hesitated to put the bullet through Sadler's head, but when he did, he smiled. Not because he killed someone but because he made Patrick happy, and he felt he needed to owe that to him since he 'suffered' a lot and still mentored Eddie.

            But now? Now he can go fuck himself.

            "Eddie?" Mike asks, searching for some sort of reaction. If his chest wasn't huffing, Mike would've assumed he was dead. But Eddie's face is blank, lifeless, devoid of emotion with the exception of the water in his eyes. Yet, Mike knows he's thinking. What exactly he's thinking about is the question. "Eddie?"

            Startling Mike, Eddie shoots up from his seat and charges for the phone. His movement is destructive and if looks could damage, the house would be on fire. What Eddie is about to say to the person he is going to call is pure word vomit, but not a word of it is false even though it might seem it is.

Understandably, Mike doesn't try to stop him but he's scared about what could happen after Eddie says what he says. All he knows is that there's no turning back from this.

            "Is this Eddie or Mik—You know what, I don't care. Half of your time has passed and still no money nor news on Uris or Tozier's death. If I have to send someone else down there to—"

            "Hey, Patrick. Shut the _fuck_ up."

            A pause.

            "Wha-What did you—"

            "I'm not repeating myself. Mike and I are done working and falling for your bullshit. We know what you've done to Richie and Stan, we know about your little brother, we know about the kids you tortured and killed, we know about Henry. Everything." Eddie says, gripping the phone harder. "You're full of shit, y'know? Going after kids because of your stupid vendetta. Stealing money that isn't yours. You're pathetic. And if you want to come and kill me for saying that, do it. Just know, I know everything you do and for once, I have people who are willing to stick with me to take you down. You've created enemies and we're the wrong people to do that with."

            There's a silence over the phone for what feels like an eternity.

            The phone statics.

            "I think you seem to forget the fact that I said you can only be looking out for you," Patrick says too calmly. It sends shivers down Eddie's spine. "Because what really makes you feel like shit is when you have friends and it's your fault when you see them die gruesomely, slowly, painfully. And I'll make sure you feel that, Kaspbrak."

            The line goes dead.

            Thankfully, the bandages on Eddie's palms are still there but he can get the familiar feeling of his nails creasing into his hands.


	21. Date Night pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosie and Preston.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things just get worse from now on.

**THE** minute Rosie walks out of her bedroom and closes the door behind her, she contemplates whether or not she should knock on Richie's door. She's always hated dresses but the one she actually can tolerate wearing is the one Richie had picked out for her. It's a floral dress that hugs her waist and flows down just over her knees. The sleeves are short and the entire thing is covered in acrylic roses over a white canvas. It's also coincidentally the dress she decides to wear to the party tonight.

She wants to have a good laugh with Richie as to how she happened to pick his favourite dress on her, almost like it called out to her. But now, as she stands outside her older brother's door, she can't find the strength to. There's still that pit in her stomach from two days ago when he outrageously claimed that Preston would never like her and went so far as to create an even bigger boundary with assuming his sexuality to keep him even farther out of reach. He hasn't apologized since then and they haven't even shared a look, the silence going unnoticed by their parents because it wasn't abnormal to them. But ever since going out to breakfast, the lack of communication between has become uncomfortable to Rosie and she has no idea why.

Nonetheless, she ultimately decides not to knock and sighs in defeat, turning the other way.

As she descends down the stairs, she doesn't notice Richie open his bedroom door, looking on guiltily. He had hoped she would knock, seeing her shadow under his door. At first, he was going to open his door and just say sorry then somehow convince her what he said two days ago was genuine, but as anyone was, he was too scared.

Now, while he watches his little sister go with the one boy he doesn't want her to be with, he mentally slaps himself for refusing to take a little agency.

 

                            ▼▼▼

 

Sally and Greta notice Rosie's off behaviour for the duration of the car ride, watching her rest her head on her palm, careful not to smudge her lipstick. And as much as Richie thinks they couldn't give less of a shit about his little sister's feelings, the girls have always had a sense of protection over the fifteen-year-old, Greta a little more than Sally.

Rosie has always wanted to look and be cooler in school and she was given the opportunity by the two of them. Though they've gone overboard with changing her personality, there's this sense that even if they couldn't change her, they'd still like her.

"Is something wrong?" Sally asks, turning her head to the backsea. The girl in question perks up, startled by the sudden inquiry after a comfortable silence with the faint sound of _Remember The Time_ by Michael Jackson plays in the background.

"Huh?"

"You, like, straight? You look like someone ran over your cat," She says, causing Greta to roll her eyes as she turns on her right-turn signal.

"Step off, Sal," Greta says harshly, but immediately softens when she directs her speech to Rosie. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to."

Rosie shakes her head, "No, it's not, like, personal or anything. It's just—" She tries to choose her next words wisely.

"Do you guys think Preston is gay?"

Well, she tries.

Sally looks at her incredulously, her mind comprehending how that idea was ever implanted in her mind. "Where the fuck did that come from?"

"Did you find gay porno shit in his room, or something?" Greta adds on, unable to hold back a snort.

"No, my-uh, my brother—" Before the words can even be uttered, both girls groan and immediately understand her absurd question.

            Having always been on top of the social hierarchy, they heard of all the drama going on between Richie and Preston at the time. They were even the ones to label Richie as a fag when Preston spread the news about Richie's advances on him. It was hilarious to see how everyone decided to toy with the trashmouth, their group taking the liberty to draw a bunch of dicks on sticky notes and fill his locker with them.

"Your brother is brainwashing you, Rose." Sally pats the girl's exposed knee and sits properly back in her seat. "He's probably saying that to dilute his own gayness by putting it on someone else."

Rosie never likes the way they talk about Richie, but she could never find the courage to tell them off. Sometimes, she senses their caution when he's brought up in conversation but other times they let loose and hold nothing back. Even so, Sally's words make sense and it doesn't seem out of character for him to take the attention away from his sexuality. He doesn't hide it but he doesn't acknowledge it either.

"Look, with the way Preston looks at you. It'd take me a lot of convincing to prove he's gay," Greta says assuringly, and Rosie nods but there's still that itching feeling in the back of her head. It's eating away at her and the more it devours, the more it makes sense. But she keeps it in, focusing on the party and how much fun she's going to have. _Just have fun and forget._

Suddenly, the car skids to a stop and Rosie's body jerks forward, her hair falling in front of her face. Some strands get stuck on her lips and picks them out, groaning in response. "What the hell?"

Greta turns back and mutters a sorry before rolling down her window and sticking her head outside of it. "Watch where you're going, Jew!"

Rosie furrows her brows and rolls her window down as well, realizing Greta's yelling at Stanley, one of Richie's friends. His arms are wrapped around his torso and, even though it's dark, Rosie can make out the tear tracks on his face. When he catches her gaze, he rolls his eyes and runs off the road while Greta throws more slurs like 'Big Nose' and 'Christ Killer.'

"I heard your stupid ass voice the first time, Greta!" He shouts back, though there's a quiver in his voice that only Rosie seems to notice. She doesn't really care what happened to him, but there's a swell of pity nonetheless as she taps Greta's shoulder and asks her to go. With the honk of a horn directed towards Stan, she speeds off.

 

                              ▼▼▼

 

When Rosie spots Preston, her stomach wells up. Usually, it would be because she's happy to see him but this feeling is different. It's a sense of uneasiness and unpredictability that she feels, even with the booming music and drunken teenagers that could bump into her and spill their drinks on her dress at any second, it's Preston coming towards her that makes her nervous.

"Hey," he slurs, collapsing into Rosie's arms. She hesitantly laughs and pulls him back up on his feet, a little disappointed he's already drunk. "I haven't seen you in so long!"

Rosie laughs, "You saw me yesterday."

"Did you grow out your hair?" He furrows his eyebrows, taking a handful of her frizzy hair and examining it.

"Nope," she says before Preston is pulled away by, Chris, one of his friends.

"Sorry about him. He immediately went to the drinks as soon as he got here," Chris says.

Preston immediately pushes him off, taking a second to admire his brown curls that almost resemble... Anyways, he grabs Rosie's hands and leads her to the humid atmosphere of sweaty teenagers. His hands find their way around her waist and sways out of beat to the song, something that he has a knack of doing even when he's sober. Rosie always finds it endearing because, even with his tough guy reputation, he still dances like an absolute dork. And with watching him like this, the question infecting her mind starts to deteriorate while the song _Ice Ice Baby_ drowns everything out as she sways her hips to the beat.

They continue on for five more dances, Greta coming occasionally to hand Rosie a drink (Greta never told her that none of them were alcoholic, though) and she doesn't know it but this is when the fun ends and the pain begins.

"How about we go upstairs?" Preston suggests, leaning his head on Rosie's shoulders as they slow dance to Come As You Are even though everyone else is over dramatically jumping to the song.

"Sure." Rosie giggles and lets her boyfriend take her upstairs, pushing past the forest of teens in their way. She can't help but feel that rush of adrenaline the closer they get to a disclosed area, being drunk off that instead of alcohol. Maybe it's her way of forgetting the question, yet even with all the dancing, there's still remnants of it biting her brain. But if it takes making out with her boyfriend to forget it, then she'll take it.

"It's been tough not being around you," Preston says, closing the door of what seems to be the bedroom. At least she thinks, it's too large to tell. It might be an upstairs living room but Rosie's too focused on Preston to care.

"What do you mean?" She asks, wrapping her arms around his neck and closing her eyes, ready for pleasure. His lips make their way down her neck as she tilts her head back, taking a breath of relief and finally the questions slowly becomes a speck of dust.

"Well ever since I was at your house, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

She opens her eyes.

"The last time you were at my house was when Richie caught you," She says, confused, causing the drunken boy to laugh. For some reason, she starts to laugh as well, thinking he might be telling some joke or is too drunk for his mind to comprehend. She doesn't understand it, though.

Then a saying pops into her head.

She doesn't know why it does but she keeps it in mind, anticipating the worst as that dumb fucking questions flourishes once again. At this point, Preston's sloppy kisses can't fend against it but she still refuses to say it.

"How about we, just, like, not talk. Okay?" Rosie says, attaching her lips to his, desperate for his drunkenness to pass onto her.

"Anything for you, _Richie_."

For a second, Rosie swears she feels her heart stop.

_A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts._

Her brain takes a second to process what she just heard as she pushes Preston away from her, still in his bubbly state, unaware of what he said. The world feels as if it's spinning but Rosie stands still, her stomach chaotic with butterflies as the question takes over her brain. Suddenly, she can't breathe, her windpipe is too crushed to do so. Everything feels blurry, out of reach, out of touch, and Preston seems to be miles away from where he's actually standing.

"I'm Rosie," is all she can say, surprised she's even able to form words.

Preston only shrugs and trudges back to her, lazily laying his hand on the wall she leans on. "Close enough."

Now that, that just hurt.

She pushes him away once again, her eyes burning, biting down on her quivering lips. Even though she hasn't asked it, she knows the answer and it kills her. Moments of their relationship flush in her mind and she finds new meanings behind them. Him constantly asking if she'd consider curling her hair. Him wondering why she didn't wear glasses like her brother. Him biting down on his lip before saying her name while she gave him a handjob. It all stands out now.

"Preston," She says as she continually pushes him off her. "Preston!"

"What," he laughs. He fucking laughs.

Rosie only ignores it, gathering whatever dignity she has left and takes a deep breath. On the bright side, the question will be out of her head and she'll know, whether she likes the answer or not.

"Were you only dating me because I looked like Richie?"

And with ease, he answers, "Wasn't it obvious?"

_A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts._

That's when the chain breaks, that last connection Rosie had to Preston is now a bunch of useless pieces floating lifelessly. The tears flow down her freckled cheeks too easily as Preston looks on, confused, privy to how much he hurt the girl in front of him. And that's what makes it even worse, he doesn't realize what he's done and will forget the next morning. She envies him for that and it makes her hate him more.

Her blurry eyesight makes out the doorknob and she runs out, furiously wiping her tears as she searches the crowd for Greta or Sally. All she wants to do is go home and mope, she doesn't want to be anywhere near Preston right now, or ever. She pushes past dancing teens who look at her in annoyance before going right back to dancing like nothing ever happened. It's careless to shove, especially when they don't know why she's distraught but Rosie will punch someone out of the way if it means she'll go home faster.

She finally finds Greta chatting with people she can't seem to notice. Nonetheless, she pulls her up, much to her dismay.

"Dude! What the he—" Greta stops and takes in her friend's appearance. "What happened?"

"Can you take me home?"

                         

                            ▼▼▼

 

"He what?!" Greta shouts, swerving the car a bit when she hears the words coming out of Rosie mouth. Even when she repeats it to Greta, it sounds unreal. Of all the things she had expected to go wrong at a teenage party, her boyfriend practically moaning her own brother's name and telling her he was only interested because she looked like him wasn't one of them.

"I'm telling you," Rosie shakes her head, wiping a stray tear away from her face. "I can't believe I just let mys—"

"Woah woah!" Greta interrupts, "You're not blaming yourself for this. I forbid you!"

Rosie furrows her eyebrows. "Why? I shouldn't have gone for him in the first place, considering his history with my bro—"

Something clicks in Greta's head as Rosie says that. "Holy shit! He was pretending to be straight the whole time. It was probably him that kissed Richie, not the other way around."

The epiphany causes Rosie to look down and twiddle her fingers. Her brother was telling the truth the whole time and she refused to believe him because she wanted to have the fantasy of the perfect boyfriend. Even with all his talk of protection, she dismissed it as a dumb brother trope that all of them had to do to fill the role. But he was genuinely concerned as to what Preston could do to her. She owes him the apology of all apologies.

"Don't worry, Rosie. By Monday, that fag won't come anywhere near you," Greta assures, noticing the way Rosie's cringes at the use of 'fag.' Yet, instead of apologizing (knowing Richie still falls under that category) she just keeps silent for the rest of the drive.

Thankfully, the uncomfortable atmosphere ends pretty quickly as Rosie thinks of ways to say sorry during the ride. The bad thing is, she finds herself at home sooner than she intends, still unable to find the perfect apology.

"I'll see you on Monday," Greta says, smiling. She puts the car in park and Rosie thanks her as she gets out, rubbing her bare arms when she feels the spring breeze nip her skin, goosebumps forming. But as she gets closer to the house, she contemplates what the actual cause of the goosebumps are.

Once the car is out of sight, Rosie has locked the door and taken off her flats, staring at the staircase in the distance. He might not even be awake, she thinks and advances towards the stairs, the tickling feeling in her stomach is getting stronger. Part of her hopes that when she knocks, he won't answer and she'll have the rest of the night to think but she knows Richie likes staying up late, even on a school night.

Each creak of the stairs makes her cringe as the faint noise of music emanates from a nearby room and finds its way to her ears. Her parents were already asleep by the time she left so there's no way they woke up and put music on. And there's only one person has been listening to Toto's Africa at night for the past week for some reason. _Shit shit shit_.

When she gets to Richie's door, she finds herself in the same spot she was a couple hours ago. The circumstances are completely different now but the feeling is the same. Her hand hovers over the door, taking the deepest breath she can muster since it's so shaky and takes the chance. However, the door opens before she can even graze the door, her brother laying an expectant gaze on the other side.

She gulps, focusing on his wet curls. Probably from a shower. "Hey."

Richie purses his lips. "Hey."

"Playing Africa, again?" She points to the player and tries to think of how to say what she wants as she starts a conversation but nothing comes into fruition.

"Yeah, sentimental value and all that," Richie shrugs, his mind briefly travelling to someone else before focusing back on Rosie. He taps his fingers against the doorframe while his eyes communicate: _Do you have something to say to me?_

"Yeah, okay. I just wanted to see if you were awake, is all," She says, feeling her opportunity slip away from her. She wants him to bring up the party, hoping it'll make things easier, yet it seems he couldn't care less about it.

"Do you want me to turn it off?—"

"No," She protests. "Just wanted to say, good night, I guess."

"Uh, okay." Richie scratches the back of his head as if he knows what Rosie wants to say and is waiting for her to say it. She can see it in his eyes and she wants to, but it's still not perfect. She wants her apology to be perfect, at the perfect time, at the perfect place. And one thing's for sure. This isn't it.

"Well, uh, good night." Rosie waves and immediately retreats into her own room, closing the door with her back. She throws her hand over her mouth to hide her sobs, mentally slapping herself for being such a coward. Maybe it isn't perfect but she should've done it anyway because she doesn't know if she'll find the courage to even knock on his door again.

Regardless, it's going to take a lot more than an apology for Rosie to make it up to her brother.


	22. Date Night pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and Stan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought the date with Rosie was bad?

**ONCE** the lights of the April Fools Fair light up, the place is officially open. Mike walks up to it, a bright excited smile on his face for what's to come. His first ever date with a person he genuinely likes and doesn't have to kill. It's refreshing and new but scary and unpredictable at the same time. Still, what's life without a little bit of risk?

The fair itself looks pretty impressive for a small town. The very front welcomes you with a ticket booth dressed in red and white cloth and a small sign that looks like it's been around since the eighteenth century judging by the specs of dust trapped inside the casing. To the left, a dozen or so games (whack-a-mole, darts and bottle stand to name a few) line up next to each other, inviting challenge, and at the end of it is a large tented funhouse with a clown's mouth acting as the entrance.

On the right, is more of the rides, the spin-o-vator, ferris wheel and charrisel being the most popular among them with the longest lines. And even with the distance, it's easy to see some of these attractions have been sitting in the town's storage for awhile.

However, as fun as everything looks, Mike has his eyes set on one thing... or person to be exact. In the far distance, sporting a blue polo and brown khakis, golden-brown curls blowing effortlessly in the sunset's glow and an awkward but adorable stance with his arms crossed over his torso is the boy Mike's been dying to see ever since the last bell of school rang.

"Stan!" He calls out, alerting his attention. Stan seems as if his whole world lights up when he catches a glimpse of Mike, the smile exclusive to him coming into fruition.

Once the meet up, awkward silence ensues, each of them waiting for the other to speak. It makes the two mentally cringe, hoping they can think of something to say. Never once has this ever happened but, of course, it has to start when the two are on an official date.

"You look—" They both say, creepily at the same time. An awkward laugh follows and Stan gestures for Mike to speak first.

"I was going to say you look great," Mike says, shifting the weight between his toes.

"I was going to say the same thing." Stan digs his hands into his pockets, sparking something in his mind. "I got us tickets, by the way." He pulls the red paper out of his back pocket and slaps it into Mike's hands.

"Damnit, I was going to buy these for us," Mike says in exaggerated disappointment, unfolding the tickets to see how much they have.

Stan shrugs and smiles, "Too late."

"Fine, but I'm buying all the food."

"Deal." Stan smiles and Mike feels everything is right in the world. He almost forgets that after this, he has to break the news about the organization.

Almost.

At the other side of the fair where an alternate entrance lies, the rest of the gang, finishing off an absurd conversation, enter as they walk pass screaming children and aggravated parents. Ben and Beverly already have a bundle of tickets, Bill holds a video camera and points it at the tall rides of the fair, and Eddie and Richie continue to argue about the topic that should've been resolved a while ago.

"My conclusion still stands. Mercutio was secretly in love with Romeo the whole time." Richie says, lifting his index to solidify his point. Eddie squints his eyes in annoyance while Ben nods proudly.

"Weren't they related?" Beverly asks and Ben shakes his head.

"No, they were close friends. He helped Romeo get into the Capulet party where he met Juliet. But it's heavily implied that, with his affectionate attitude towards Romeo and talk of how he was too rash with women, that Mercutio could've had a crush on Romeo."

"And that's why Benny's the bookworm of the group." Richie smiles and pats the boy on the back.

Eddie rolls his eyes, "That's common knowledge, dumbass. You'd have to be completely dense to forget they were rela—"

Beverly sends him a death glare.

"—or rightfully not be paying attention because the book's pretty boring." Eddie scratches the back of his neck, sinking under the fiery girl's gaze. She immediately softens, however, and sends a smug smile his way.

They hadn't talked about her knowledge but there was an unspoken confirmation that Beverly knew Eddie knew and neither decided to comment on it because nothing needed to be said. He's aware that he has to tell Richie, Mike informed him yesterday. He isn't sure how he's going to let the cat out of the bag but he knows he'll tell him tomorrow. Right now is too inappropriate and waiting until monday is too risky since Patrick could turn up any day now.

Eddie lets the thought leave his mind and narrows his eyes at Bill and his camera, watching him zoom in on Ben holding up his tickets with a smile. "What's the camera for?"

Bill points it at him and Eddie starts to blush, startled by the attention. "My p-puh-parents thought I was lying t-t-to them when I said I'd be at the carnival s-suh-s-so they made me b-bring this for evidence."

"Why would they think you're lying?"

"There's a party at A-Ah-Amy Stockings house tonight. I g-guh-g-guess they found out about it and thought I would wanna go." Bill scoffs, knowing he wouldn't be caught dead at that party.

Eddie only shrugs and searches for something that will peak his interest, Richie's frown at the mention of Amy's party going unnoticed by him. He doesn't _want_ to be at the party but he does want to look out for Rosie, unsure of what Preston might make her do. All he hopes is that Preston will try to be a gentleman.

"Hey guys," Ben says. "Remember to stay out of sight if you see Mike and Stan."

The others nod, having no desire to go out of their way and ruin or interfere with their date as they have been hearing both of them talk about it every five seconds. Mike has been gushing about to Eddie all week and Stan has called Bill and Ben a total of twenty-seven times to ask what usually goes on in a date. It's been fucking exhausting.

"Hey, Spaghetti." Richie waves his hand over to the bottle-ring toss. "How much you wanna bet I can get all four rings?"

Eddie ponders for a moment, "Five dollars."

"Challenge accepted! Hand me two tickets, Benny," Richie exclaims and Ben obliges.

Richie hands the tickets to the host and she gives him four rings in return as Richie turns back to Eddie, a cheeky smile on his face. Eddie crosses his arms and looks on in amusement, curious as to how good Richie's accuracy is.

Apparently, it sucks.

Richie ends up landing his last ring around one bottle at the edge of the pack of them, making Eddie laugh shamelessly at the failed attempt. He walks up to him and pats his back, giving him an apologetic look. Richie rolls his eyes and watches while the lady rounds up the rings, telling himself that all fair games are usually rigged.

"You owe me five dollars," Eddie says as Richie pulls a Lincoln out of his wallet and hands it to him, defeated.

"Give me a break, they're designed for you to fail."

"Or maybe you just suck," Beverly deadpans. Richie throws his hands up in defeat and pushes Beverly's head, making her slap his hand away after he does so. "Don't take your anger out on me!"

"It can't be that hard," Eddie buts in, sensing a future fight between the two.

"Oh yeah? Then how about you try it?" Richie raises an eyebrow and gestures to the game. Eddie looks at him as if to communicate, _Are you serious?_ Richie, however, rests his hand on his hips to say he's dead serious.

Eddie shrugs, "Okay."

Ben hands him another two tickets and Eddie passes it on the host, receiving the same four rings that Richie did. His first attempt easily swings around a bottle in the front row, making Richie's brows furrow in response. The second ring lands in the middle, dropping down perfectly.

"Hold on a minute," Richie says as Eddie makes his third throw, successfully finding a bottle right next to his second throw.

"Looks like E-Eh-E-Eddie has you b-b-beat," Bill teases, zooming in on Richie's awe towards Eddie and his accuracy. It's like he's giving Richie more reasons to fall for him.

No surprise, his last rings swirls around a bottle right at the corner and the host pulls down on the victory bell, retrieving a large Donald Duck plushie from the top rack. She hands it to Eddie with a congratulatory smile, saying "Congrats."

Eddie turns to Richie with the same cheeky smile he gave him and walks to a new attraction, earning a high five from Beverly as he does. Ben stays back and pitifully wraps an arm around Richie's shoulder while Bill films the two of them like a proud father.

"Don't worry, Rich. This isn't the only game here," Ben says.

"Oh, I know. That was just dumb luck," Richie says, boosting his self esteem a litlle bit.

Turns out, it was not 'just dumb luck.'

It's always essential to remember Eddie has amazing hand-eye coordination, speed and precision, whether Richie knows that or not. What would be surprising is if Eddie didn't get any of his attempts. But he did, in every single game they had played. He hit every single stack of milk bottles. Every balloon victim to his darts were popped. And his skee balls would either go down the one-hundred point or fifty point holes, the highest points you can get.

Mike was no different, winning every carnival game him and Stan came across. Stan, now, can barely hold up the six stuffed animals Mike had won for him, his arms feeling as if they could fall off at any second.

"Can we please switch items?" Stan says, swiftly catching a papa smurf toy. Mike laughs and rips a piece of cotton candy with his teeth before exchanging some of his stuff with Stan. The latter lets out a breath of relief and takes a sip of his cherry slushy. "If I knew you were gonna be this good at carnival games I would've brought... a wheelbarrow or something."

"Wheelbarrow?"

"It was the first thing that popped into my head." Stan shrugs, narrowing his eyes towards a boat swinging ride called 'The Rage.' "How about our first ride?"

Mike takes a look at the ride and smiles, nodding as he takes Stan's hand, careful to see no one is looking at them. Stan is careful to not let his drink spill as Mike pulls him, asking him to slow down a little. Once they reach it, they leave their stuff with the operator and sit at the end of the ride, watching other people fill up the remaining seats. Stan takes that time to admire the boy to him.

The concept of a boyfriend never crossed his mind before, mainly because he wasn't looking for one, but ever since Mike came along, his desires have grown stronger. It's rare when Stan can fully put his trust on someone but Mike makes it a piece of cake. He knows, once this date is done, he's going to tell him how he feels.

"Hello and welcome to the rage!" The operator says into the mic, snapping Stan out of his thoughts. "To ensure your safety, please do no stand up or lift your legs during the duration of the ride."

The bars in front of them, automatically close and the ride starts subtly rocking back and forth. A mix of laughter from the kids in front of them and half-assed excitement from their parents bring a sense of comfort to the two boys. Everything feels right at this moment, like nothing could go wrong.

Once the first major drop hits, Stan latches onto Mike's arm, startled by how much his stomach dropped. The latter laughs and pulls him closer, causing Stan to blush hard. Even after the ride reaches its peak, he never pulls away.

The rest of the group watch from a distance, Bill's camera zoomed in on the two. Annoyed, Richie stands in front of it, his iris being the focus of the shot instead of the two boys. "Do you have to be recording everything?"

"Yes," Bill answers and turns the camera away from him, pointing it at Beverly trying to get popcorn into Eddie's mouth.

"Aim a little higher," Eddie suggests while Ben watches, intensely. With a flick of the wrist, Beverly makes the shot, earning a series of claps from Ben and Eddie in response. But as if wanting to get punched in the face, Richie jumps in front of them camera once again, dancing to It's Raining Men playing through the loudspeakers. He shimmies his shoulders and does a trickling effect with his fingers, lip-syncing passionately. Instead of pulling away, Bill just keeps the shot on him and stifles a laugh, biting his bottom lip.

Eddie looks on with raised eyebrows, wondering how he ever came to like the boy dancing obnoxiously in front of him. If anything, maybe that's the reason. Richie just doesn't give a fuck and doesn't care who knows it.

"C'mon, let's go before they notice us spying," Ben says, taking Beverly's hand and venturing off to the funhouse. Richie and Eddie follow in suit while Bill lingers on Mike and Stan before leaving.

Luckily, the two boys don't spot them as they move onto the carousel, handing six tickets and their belongings to the host. Obviously, they pick a two-seater and hold hands out of sight from everyone else, looking around for confirmation before they do so. The eighteenth century music plants a sense euphoria as Mike forgets about what he has to do at the end. It'll come back eventually but it's not a main priority, right now his main priority is Stan and nothing else.

"This is the most fun I've had in awhile," Stan says, speaking over the music.

"Same here." The two words pack more of a punch than he intends, the facility and the organization a mere fantasy compared to now. And if Mike and Eddie are able to take down Patrick, maybe it will be.

"I think we should eat after this. My stomach's killing me."

"Are you sure it isn't that fact we're spinning in a circle?" Mike asks.

Stan tilts his head, "Yeah, it could be that too."

While they decide that, the others try their damndest to get Richie to go into the funhouse. Since he's never been fond of clowns, the entrance being its mouth isn't very welcoming.

"Richie, it's literally just what the entrance looks like!" Ben says, dragging the boy towards it.

"That's what you think! The next thing you know one of the damn things pops out and eats your fucking face off! I'm not going!" Richie yanks his hand out of Ben's grasp, causing him to groan. He turns to his girlfriend who only shrugs, knowing Richie's childhood fear is one of the few things that continues to haunt him.

Yet, on cue, Bill and Eddie meet up with the trio after putting all the stuffed animals they earned in the basket of Beverly's bike outside of the carnival. For the first time in forever, Bill has the camera to his side but regrets it immediately when he sees Richie's little tantrum.

"What's g-guh-going on?" He asks, Eddie thinking the same thing.

"We want to go into the funhouse," Ben pants, glaring at Richie. The boy only sticks his tongue out.

"Oh cool! I've always wanted to go into one of these," Eddie exclaims. "We're going in, right?"

"Well, yeah but--"

"Yeah, we are! Just waiting on you slow pokes." Richie interrupts Beverly and reaches for Eddie's hand, leading him inside. Eddie only smiles, privy to how much Richie's hand is shaking.

Bill squints his eyes, "He wasn't p-pla-p-planning on going in there, w-wuh-wuh-was he?"

"Nope," Beverly shakes her head.

"Eddie has him whipped," Ben says, causing the other two to nod in response. They venture in nonetheless and immediately find themselves in a hall of mirrors. The first one to bang their head is Richie, letting out a loud "Fuck!"

"Excuse me!" A nearby mother says, covering her daughter's ears. Richie smiles apologetically before he's pulled away by a chuckling Eddie who leads them to another unexpected mirror and bangs his head as well. He doesn't swear but does let out a pretty high-pitched groan.

"Holy shit, are you okay?" Richie asks, laughing as he holds his stomach.

"I think I'm gonna get a concussion once we get outta here," Eddie says, rubbing his head. Another bump is heard from behind them and they turn around to see Beverly caressing her elbow. She starts laughing out of pain and doubles over, breathing harshly.

"Fucking funny bone," she says through her laughs.

They eventually make it pass with a few more hits, surprised as to how Bill was the only one who got out without hitting anything. The group acknowledged how underwhelming the rest of the funhouse is after the hall of mirrors. All there is, is a forest of dangling punching bags that Richie compared to dicks. Then they come across a zipline, making an attempt to hang onto it all at once. Spoiler alert: it doesn't work and they all fall off (Bill gets it on camera). And lastly, they slide down 'The Slide of Wonders,' which is "a dumb fucking name," if you were to ask Eddie.

"Can we all agree that sucked?" Beverly says, earning immediate nods.

At this point, they all concur that it's perfectly fine for them to crash Mike and Stan's date. They've had enough alone time, the others are hungry and they aren't waiting for the two of them to finish eating to eat themselves.

They find Mike and Stan chatting amongst themselves at yet, another misfit picnic table. The white paint on it is mostly peeled off and one of the legs is cut off, leaving the table slanted.

Richie's the one to grasp their attention as he runs up to them, engulfing them both in hugs, much to Stan's dismay. Not because Richie interrupted them, that's a given, but because he hates Richie's hugs.

"How're y'all?" He attempts in an authentic southern accent. Mike shakes his head, smiling while Stan rolls his eyes.

"Worse, now you're here."

Richie clutches his heart, "You wound me, Stanley."

The rest take their seats around the table, Bill pressing record once again. Mike furrows his eyebrows at the sight of it while Bill films Eddie playfully glaring at the camera and Richie landing a kiss on his cheek.

"What's with the camera?" Mike asks.

"My p-puh-parents think I'm at a party. And I could only c-c-come if I showed them physical evidence that I was actually here."

"Doesn't that party start at, like, nine?" Stan inquires, taking a bite of his fry. Bill only scoffs, refusing to comprehend his parents logic.

"I've never been to a high school party," Eddie cuts in, discreetly caressing where Richie had kissed him.

"Eddie Spaghetti, have you done anything?" Richie asks, shocked at how out of touch he is. Eddie becomes quiet, twiddling his fingers. That question snaps him back into the harsh reality that he didn't have a normal childhood and hasn't had the chance to be an actual teenager, no matter how many undercover missions he's had.

Beverly notices this and internally cusses Richie off, but keeps her cool. "He's shown you up in every single game we've gone to."

Eddie looks up and smiles at Beverly, earning a subtle wink back. Though she has to hold all this information to herself, they're still good people with good intentions and that's all she needs to support them.

"It was dumb luck," Richie pouts.

"Eleven times?"

"It was dumb luck for each game. We played each, like, game once."

"We played whack-a-mole, like, three—"

"Okay, fine! I suck!" Richie leans forwards and hides his face in his arms, while Eddie rubs his back in comfort.

"Acknowledging it is the first step," Stan says. Without lifting his head, Richie flips him off and harshly slaps his hand back on the wooden table top.

"What about you? Seems like you guys won a lot," Eddie says, changing the subject out of pity for Richie.

"More like Mike won a lot. He never missed a shot," Stan gushes.

"Guess it's a f-fuh-f-family thing," Bill says, causing both boys to recoil. It's just lies on top of lies the longer this goes on. And with the looming threat hanging over their heads, it's only a matter of time before it drops when they least expect it. Beverly knows Mike hasn't told Stan but he promised this morning that he'd tell him right after their date. She warned him that Stan'd be angrier if he told him after but, as right now shows, he didn't listen. Eddie has already informed her that once he told Richie about it tomorrow, she'd be free to break the news to Bill and Ben, and thankfully Richie would take it a little more lightly as long as Eddie didn't mention Patrick. But continuing to keep this secret is eating the three of them away, especially when the bond they have with each other was built on something that isn't true.

The burden continues to weigh them down for the rest of their time at the carnival, but becomes light as a feather when they all decide to take one last ride on the bumper cars, one last ounce of fun before the rope breaks. And when it does, reality hits hard.

Richie, Ben and Bill had rode home after the bumper cars, Bill realizing he left his camera with Mike only after he got home. Luckily enough, his parents were asleep so he didn't have to endure any consequences. Ben and Richie rode home together as Richie raved about how Eddie showed signs of his affections, much to Ben's dismay (but he couldn't lie that it was cute).

That leaves Beverly, Stan, Eddie and Mike, gathering their things to take off while attractions in the distance are being dismantled and cars drive off to their respective homes. Mike feels his stomach drop as he watches Stan stuff the toys they got in a plastic bag he retrieved from a kind child who saw how much he was struggling to hold them. The way he ruffled the kid's hair reminded Mike that Stan's sensitive and telling him the truth would break him into a million pieces. Even with Beverly telling him Stan will eventually forgive him, the days he'll have to endure without Stan is going to hurt like hell.

Mike doesn't realize he's thinking short term when he shouldn't be but it keeps clouding his judgment and will bring a storm of guilt if he keeps doing so.

"I had a lot of fun," Stan says, walking up to him. _Stop making it so hard._

"Me too," Mike weakly smiles. To the left of him, stand Eddie and Beverly, watching in the distance. That feeling in his stomach becomes stronger by the second, looking back to Stan. "It sucks that we couldn't go into the spin-o-vater, though."

"Oh don't worry, I think we would've thrown up if we did," Stan says, inducing a laugh out of Mike.

"Yeah, we'll put that on the checklist for next time."

"There'll be a next time?"

Mike stammers, "I-If you want there to be, I mean."

"Yeah. Yeah, that'd be cool."

Mike realizes that he's leading Stan on and needs to stop before confessing becomes hard. He breaks eye contact and thinks of what to say but nothing comes to mind. If he keeps stalling then he'll lose track but he can't blatantly tell Stan about the organization. He prays something will pop into his head and quickly. Then he remembers Beverly's words.

Make sure to tell him how you feel or it won't work out.

Mike takes a deep breath, "Okay, so I haven't felt like this about anyone before but I'm glad you were the first. I just-I really like you, a lot. I don't know if I make that obvious."

"You do," Stan responds dryly. "Do I make it obvious too?"

Mike laughs, "Yeah, you do."

For the first time, Stan takes Mikes hand without a care in the world as to who's watching. He feels like he's fully in control of his own decisions, no overbearing father to tell him what's right or wrong, just him.

Mike, on the other hand, is panicking. He can't think straight and Stan taking his hand isn't helping, no matter how comforting it is. Can't he just stay like this and not tell him? Keep him out of it until the situation is dealt with? Then Stan can't get hurt and won't be involved with any of this. He was never meant to in the first place.

The conflict inside his head is all over the place but what decides to come out is the last thing he expected to say. "Well, I'll, um, I'll see you on Monday."

And for some reason, he doesn't retract it. He lets it sit and refuses to say anything else. He doesn't know how long he'll hold it off, but Mike sure as hell isn't telling him now. On the outside, he's telling himself it's a good decision and Stan won't get hurt this way. On the inside, he knows he's just saving his own ass so he doesn't have to take responsibility. Stan only nods, swiftly kissing his cheek, still aware that other people are around. There's a big smile on his face and his cheeks are blood red, tucking a piece of his curls behind his ear.

Infuriated, Beverly marches up to him, her face redder than her own hair. "Are you _fucking_ kidding me?"

"Beverly—"

"No! I'm not going to wait for you! Do you realize how selfish you're being?" Beverly rages, poking his shoulder. "You can't expect to get out of this without getting hurt."

"Well, sorry if I don't want to get hurt. You're acting like this isn't hard." Mike defends, finding more rationale in not telling Stan the more he hears Beverly's argument.

"Of course, I know this is hard. I have to keep this from my best friends and my boyfriend, all of which I've known a lot longer than you," she bites back and takes a deep breath. "Y'know what? Forget it."

She turns to where Stan had left and calls out his name, Mike widening his eyes in realization as to what she's going to do. Eddie just looks on, disappointed but understanding both sides of the situation. Even before all of this, Mike was right about Stan being the hard one to deal with and he looks on with pity while Beverly runs off, but knows it's the right thing for Mike.

Beverly finds Stan five minutes away from the carnival, walking home with the bubbliest expression on his face, something she's rarely seen. It almost makes her walk away, but of course she doesn't because she's tired of it all. She would rather endure the pain for a while than have the guilt tag onto her like an anchor.

"Stan!" She calls, causing Stan to turn in confusion.

"What's up?" He asks, letting her catch her breath.

  "Look, I-uh, I have to tell you something."

At that moment, Mike catches up to them, wishing that Beverly hasn't told him.

"Please don't tell me you told him," he pants. Stan just watches with furrowed brows, wondering where this sudden urgency from the both of them came from.

"Tell me what?" Stan asks, crossing his arms around his torso with the bag dangling from his right hand.

"Well, you're here," Beverly says, gesturing to Stan. The latter looks at Mike expectantly, curious.

Mike glances between both parties, sinking into an abyss when he meets Stan's eyes. _Here goes nothing._

He feels his hands shake as his heart pounds out of his chest, ready to collapse and sink right into the concrete sidewalk. But he can't because it isn't possible and he must face the music whether he likes it or not. "Okay, um-okay. I'm not... who I've been saying I was."

Stan tilts his head. "What are you talking about?"

"My name isn't Mike Hanlon-Kaspbrak. It's just Mike Hanlon. Eddie and I aren't brothers and our 'parents' don't exist," Mike says, putting air quotes around "parents." "I was sent here by an organization to go undercover and steal a sum of money from your parents... and kill you."

The reaction from Stan comes as a surprise when he lets out a hesitant chuckle. "Is this an April Fool's joke, or something?"

Mike stays silent and rubs his shoulder, looking down in shame. That's enough to give Stan the answer he needs and takes a while to think about what he's heard. The gears in his head turn and stop and turn and stop, it's just not adding up. And Beverly, she has the same expression as Mike, shame. There's a little bit of disappointment but mostly shame. She knows?

"I just, um, I don't understand." Stan closes his eyes to get a better comprehension. "So when you came up to me that day, in art class—"

Oh.

"So, this whole time, with all the flirting a-and getting close with me and trying to relate with me. That was just a part o-of some plan to--" He can't even finish, taking a step back from Mike in front of him. His head starts to throb from the amount of tears he's keeping in, "And you, like five mintues ago, saying that you liked me. That was some trick? Or something—"

"No, that wasn't. I swear," Mike rebuttals. "Yes, that was the mission, to get close to you but I fell for you and I couldn't bring myself to do that to you. I even called them and told them that I wasn't doing it anymore."

"And how am I supposed to tr-tr-trust anything you say?"

Stan has him there.

"Look, you can hate me and stop talking to me and not trust me. I totally get that, but just know everything about my feelings are true. It was you that made me see that what I was doing wasn't right and it was you who made me feel like a normal person instead of something to be used and manipulated with," Mike pleads. "I genuinely whole-heartedly like you, okay?"

Stan wants to believe him and part of him sees where he's coming from. But there's the fact that he poured his heart to Mike about his father and his stress while Mike could've been spewing out bullshit in response. He doesn't just say stuff like this out loud, it's personal and intimate and Mike is one of the few to hear it. He's been told so much about Mike's past and problems that he can't differentiate the truth from lie. He can't bring himself to forgive Mike for that here and now. There's no trust anymore.

"I-uh I need space, okay? I'm sorry, Mike, but you're just a stranger to me now. I don't know how long it'll stay that way, but that's just how it is." Stan sniffs and hands the bundle of toys to Beverly beside him. He doesn't have the strength to be mad at Beverly since it's obvious she knows. Being her friend for so long, he can guess she wanted Mike to tell him, himself.

Once he's out of there sight, he lets loose and sobs shamelessly, processing what had just happened. He's able to connect the dots and come to a conclusion that Eddie knew as well and is probably like Mike as well.

It just makes no sense, Stan doesn't know what to  think right now. There's a whirlwind of emotions inside him and he's drowning in them, it's suffocating. He thinks back to every conversation they've had and tries to dissect what could've been true, but everything just ends up being part of his fake backstory to get Stan to trust him.

His thoughts are cut off by a speeding car that screeches to halt once it catches Stan in its headlights. As if the world wants to give him the finger, Greta pokes her head out the window and yells out a bunch of insults he couldn't care enough to hear. "I heard your stupid ass voice the first time, Greta!"

He briefly gets a glimpse of Rosie as well, rolling his eyes. Of course, she's with them, probably excited to tell her other friends she saw Stanley Uris crying his way home like the fag he is.

With a honk of the horn, they ride off and Stan is left to cry in the dark, trying his best to forget Mike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the hardest and longest chapter I’ve written but I’m glad I wrote it. I got a little too caught up with writing the group hanging out together but I swear to god there’s a reason for it. And if you’re sad about what happens, it kinda gets better.....
> 
>  
> 
> Then it gets significantly worse


	23. Richie Finds Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Literally what the title says

            **TO** say Eddie is nervous is an understatement. He's never been so scared before and the way Mike came to him yesterday, completely distraught and hopeless didn't help him. He knows Richie would take the reveal better but that doesn't mean he wouldn't be mad. What will Richie say after the fact? Would he kick him out? Ignore him for days?

            He guesses only time will tell.

            As he slips on his sweater he passes Mike's room, sneaking a glimpse as to how he's doing through the door. Although he isn't crying, he has his blanket draped over his shoulders, reading a novel with dried tear tracks on his cheeks. Every once in awhile he sniffles and runs his hand under his nose as _Fading Like A Flower_ plays in the background.

            Eddie rolls his eyes and walks to the radio, turning it off. Mike scoffs and sends daggers Eddie's way a harshly closed his book which Eddie sees is To Kill A Mockingbird.

            "I was listening to that."

            "Yeah, that's why I turned it off." Eddie crosses his arms, "You can't do this to yourself."

            Mike wraps the blanket further around his body. "Do what?"

            "This," Eddie gestures. "Listening to sad songs and reading in the dark."

            "I heard that's what most teenagers do after a heartbreak, but they had ice cream and watched a movie. Since we don't have ice cream and no movies are playing this early in the morning, this is all I have." An idea sparks in his head. "Can you get ice cream on your way back? I want the full experience."

            "No."

            "Chinese, then? I heard that's an alternative."

            "Where exactly did you see this?" Eddie asks.

            "Ben recommended some books to me and in all the romance books, that's what the girl would do," Mike shrugs.

            "Oh my god." Eddie pinches his nose, then a thought rushes to his head. But before he gets to say it, Mike continues his wallowing.

             "Y'know, Patrick is psychotic but he's still right about one thing. Emotions really are your enemy. If I stuck with that, I would've never fallen for Stan and this wouldn't hurt so much," Mike says, his head pulsing at the number of tears he's holding back.

            "That's bullshit." Eddie sits down on the bed in front of Mike. "Look, living by that principle made both of us do some fucked up things. But now, it's down the trash, Stan gets to be alive and Richie gets to be alive. Good people. If I could go back and save some genuinely good people, I would. You don't know how much I wish I could do that." Eddie's eyes get watery. "And feeling this? The heartbreak. It lets you know that your human and have some sanity in you, something you and I need to be reminded we have. And it shows that you care about Stan because he makes you happy which is a _good_ thing. I know it hurts but you'll get through it. Stan'll come to his senses and realize you weren't trying to hurt him, Beverly said so."

            There's still a sour taste in his mouth from Beverly for Mike, but he ultimately knows both of them are right. What he's enduring will hurt and continue to do so, but sometimes doing the right thing comes with a price and it's something he has to live with if he's going to keep on with the morally good path. There's never light without a little bit of darkness. They're interchangeable.

            "Thanks, Eddie." Mike blinks, allowing the last few tears he has left to fall as a small smile creeps onto his lips. Eddie reaches through the blanket and hugs Mike with all the strength he can while he quietly sniffs in his grasp.

            "Can you turn the music back on?" Mike asks, causing Eddie to chuckle.

            "No more Roxette though," he says. "You can borrow my mixtape."

            "What mixtape?"

            "Richie made a mixtape—"

            Mike's eyebrows raise, "He likes you that much?"

            Eddie's eyes widen. "I said he made me a mixtape! I didn't say he—what?"

            "Then why'd he make you a mixtape?"

            "Be-Because, I was feeling down one day and he made it for me to cheer me up." When he thinks back on it though, that sure seems like a lot for Richie to go through just to cheer him up.

            Mike doesn't seem to latch on though, skimming over Eddie's words. "I mean I kind of noticed he liked you but I didn't think it was this obvious. I guess this is what I get for paying attention to Stan so much."

            "Mike!" Eddie glares.

            "Oh, can it! There's nothing wrong with him liking you," Mike rebuttals, wiping away a stray tear. "And if he doesn't, I'm going to be surprised."

            Eddie rolls his eyes, "He doesn't like me."

            Still, he admits he doesn't sound very convincing. There's no doubt in his mind that he likes Richie, but there's that denial in every crush at the concept of Richie liking him back. And if he does, will he continue to do so after Eddie tells him the truth? He feels his hand sweat at the thought of it, feeling the urge to press down on his palms with his nails.

            He doesn't though, knowing Richie wouldn't like it and notice if he did immediately. It's annoying how much Richie's been able to get out of him, he's surprised Dylan hasn't slipped out yet. Still, Eddie owes Richie so much and can't even start to think on how to repay him for what he's done. He guesses it might be saving his life, that's the biggest thing on his list.

            "I'm going to go," Eddie says, going over to the edge of the room where Bill's video camera is. He hopes Bill's parents didn't catch him for not bringing it home. Eddie wouldn't hear the end of it.

            "Wait!"

            Eddie stops picking up the camera and puts his arms up, startled.

            "I want to, um, do something with it before I give it back," Mike explains.

            Eddie furrows his brows. At least he won't be the reason for Bill getting grounded. "Okay."

            "And Eddie?"

            "Yeah?"

            "Good luck."

 

                         ▼▼▼

 

            Richie's house seems as smaller as Eddie walks up to the front door. The door itself is too small to fit into as if made for a dog. The windows resemble that of a dollhouse, yet the glass could shatter with the tap of your finger. And the walls are made of plastic, on the brink of collapse, it's fragile. Eddie's not even inside and he's already suffocating.

            Regardless, he knocks and is greeted by Rosie. The two have never actually had a conversation like Eddie has done with Maggie and Wentworth, but he has known her long enough that he doesn't particularly like her. Every time he sees her, she's arguing with Richie, sucking up to her parents or gossiping on the phone for hours on end. He can't blame her for being like that, but that doesn't make what she does anymore tolerable.

            "Is Richie home?" He asks, probably the longest sentence he's ever said to her.

            "He went out to run some 'arrons' but he's been out for a while." Judging by her tone, she's going to tell him to come ba—

            "But you can stay up in his room and wait for him if you want?"

            "Oh," Eddie says, taken aback. "Sure."

             Rosie takes a step back, making room for him to walk in. His last thought would be Rosie actually allowing him into his house. He assumes all siblings just don't like their siblings' friends. At least that's what one of his targets said.

            "He's been listening to Africa a lot, y'know?"

            Eddie snaps back into reality, "Huh?"

            "Richie," she answers. "Is that your favourite song or something?"

            "I like the song a lot, I guess?" It's definitely the song he rewinds to the most when listening to the mixtape Richie made. Eddie remembers telling him that. That couldn't mean it's why Richie keeps listening to it, though.

            "Makes sense."

            Before Eddie can ask what that means, he's at Richie's door, witnessing quite a sight. Richie's bed is perfectly made as if never been touched. His desk is free of clothes and dirty plates, his set of records organized by colour in the basket under it. His closet has all of his clothes hung up with his shoes ordered neatly on the top shelf. The carpeted floor is devoid of wrappers, food stains, and tennis balls, surprising Eddie as he thought Richie's carpet was gray, not white. But that thought makes him throw up in his mouth.

            "I've never seen it this clean either," Rosie answers Eddie's thoughts. "Looks like you have a big impact on him."

            He turns to her, "Me?"

            "I don't care what his room looks like and he never listens when our parents tell him to clean his room. You're the only person who comes here frequently, aside from his other friends but they've never commented on his room before."

             Eddie blushes and scratches the back of his head, unable to think of what to say. Suddenly everything he's heard other people say about Richie flood into his mind and his stomach flutters. There's a myriad of excuses Eddie thinks of in his mind about Richie's, apparently, different behaviour around him. None of them seem to add up, however, and he gets a little more anxious.

               It's not that he doesn't want Richie to like him, but the bigger the feelings the bigger the heartbreak. Eddie still hasn't even gotten over Dylan's death, the nightmares and shadows are only starting to diminish but they're still there.

            The unlatching of the door brings Eddie back down to earth as Richie makes his way up the stairs. Eddie goes to sit on his bed, careful not to mess it up, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Well, that is, until he sees a sight he never thought he'd see.

            Richie put his glasses on.

            " _Fuck_ ," Eddie says, sending Richie a few feet back in surprise.

            "Shit! Spaghetti, what are you doing here?" Richie puts a hand on his chest, nervously laughing it off.

            "You're wearing your glasses," Eddie says, mesmerized. That's when Richie notices it himself and immediately takes them off, embarrassed.

           "Yeah, uh, I only wear them on weekends. Not all the time—"

            "I love them." Eddie stands up and takes the glasses from Richie's hand to put them back on before noticing how dirty they are. "It makes you look like a dork."

            Richie laughs, "That's why I don't like them."

            Eddie opens his drawers, in awe of how organized his items are, even in places no one will see. Nonetheless, he finds the spray and cloth with ease and cleans the glasses before placing them back Richie's face himself. "You should wear them more often."

            From then on, Richie promised himself to never take off his glasses until the day he died.

            "No fucking way, I only wear these when no one's around. It hurts my eyes to wear contacts all the time."

            Eddie notices Richie's eyes are a lot brighter and bigger behind his glasses, melting at the sight. If he had it his way, Richie would have his glasses on even when he's sleeping. "Then I guess I'm coming over on weekends."

            "You're going to do that to me?" Richie scoffs, sliding his glasses back up. "You'll get tired of four eyes easily, Eddie Spaghetti."

            "I'm tired of you anyway," Eddie shrugs, making Richie's jaw drop and take a pillow from his bed, hitting Eddie over the head with it as he sits on the bed. Though he would have fought back, he decides not to, remembering why he's here.

            "If you're so tired of me, why are you here?"

            _There's your chance_.

            Eddie rubs his hands down his jeans, his thoughts getting lightheaded. Still, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, earning confused looks from the boy beside him.

            "Look, I'm going to talk. I'd appreciate it if you just answer back after I'm done," Eddie says and Richie nods, curious. "Everything I'm about to tell you is absolutely true. Mike knows, Stan knows and Beverly knows. Ben and Bill may know too if Beverly told them."

            "Okay?" Richie says.

            Eddie's chest heaves in and out, then starts.

            "My name is not Eddie Hanlon-Kaspbrak, just Kasprak. Mike is not my brother and both my parents are dead. I was picked up by this organization that basically had you... 'take people out.' The targets were usually people of other underground organizations like mine but some-sometimes kids were involved."

            Richie blinks, sensing where this is going.

            "I usually dealt with the kids because I could blend in and get close to them, no one would notice me. Usually, the kid was the price the family had to pay if they refused to deal with us. Which brought me to you. Mike and I were told you and Stan's father had made false claims about losing sixty thousand dollars in total in nineteen eighty-nine. We had to go undercover and get close to you guys so we could take that money back, as well as kill you and Stan as a message. And that was our mission, at first."

            Richie was about to ask what he meant but remembers he has to keep silent. He wouldn't even know what to say, anyways.

            "We got to know you and your friends and how great you guys really were. It was new quite new for me and Mike to have friends who genuinely cared about how we felt and if we were okay. It made us realize that what we were doing was wrong because you were worth something, worth living. We also find out that your fathers' had lost that amount and got it back, something we were unaware of. All the more reason to protect you."

            "Protect me?" Richie blurts out, too flustered to keep it in.

            "Yeah, you," Eddie replies, stroking Richie's hand. When did that happen? "You can ask questions now."

            Richie explodes, jumping up from the bed, "Was everything you said to me a lie then? Are they after you because you defected? How long have you been doing this? How many people have you killed? You're not going to kill me, are you? Is Mike's last name Hanlon, then?"

            The abundance of questions overflows Eddie's brain, but he answers nonetheless. "Not everything I said was a lie. I've been doing this since I was about thirteen. I've lost track as to how many but there's a record. I'm not going to kill you. And yes, Mike's last name is Hanlon."

            Richie sighs, overwhelmed. "Is memory stuff like what you just did part of your training?"

            "No, your questions were very easy," Eddie responds, grazing his palms with his fingernails. "Are you mad?"

            Richie sighs, frustrated. "I guess, kinda. It makes me realize that you only sat next to me to get information out of me."

            "Granted, I didn't know you were sitting next to me."

            "Doesn't matter, you were going to find me eventually." Richie has another epiphany. "And when you said you'd stay here after school. Was that just a way for you to get into my house?"

            Eddie's stomach twists but softens when he thinks back to that day. The mission was the last thing on his mind when he told Richie that. It had completely disappeared from existence to him. All that was on his mind was making the boy in front of him feel needed and happy in his own house.

            "Surprisingly no," he says and Richie raises his eyebrows. "You just looked so... sad. I guess I wanted to help you because I know what it feels like to be isolated with maybe one person acknowledging your existence. At that moment, I wanted to be that one person."

            "Oh," is all Richie can say as those feelings he thought were draining away fills back up again. He acknowledges how much Eddie couldn't take the secret and wanted to tell him, even if it meant Richie hating him. Come to think of it, Richie can't comprehend the concept of hating Eddie Han—Eddie Kaspbrak.

            "If you wanna kick me out, you totally can. I can give you space—"

            Richie's arms wrap around Eddie faster than he could understand, nuzzling his nose on Eddie's neck. He shivers at the touch but smiles nonetheless, letting a breath out he didn't know he was holding.

            "You ain't not goin nowhere, Spaghetti. You stopped what you were doin because you knew it was wrong, that’s what matters." Richie says in a hard Brooklyn accent. Eddie chuckles and breaks the hug, taking the anchor of his feet. The house feels more open to Eddie as he falls back onto Richie's bed, his fingers tracing away from his palms.

            "So everyone else knows?" Richie questions.

            Eddie nods, "Stan didn't take it so hot."

            "Stan's a whiny little bitch. He'll come around eventually," Richie says, causing Eddie to scoff.

            "Well, for now, Mike's a fucking mess. I wouldn't be surprised he's still in his room."

            "When'd Mike tell him?"

            "After their date."

            Richie furrows his eyebrows, "That's a horrible time to tell him! Why not before or a few days after?"

            "Mike was supposed to tell him before but kept pushing it back because he was scared of losing him," Eddie explains.

           "I get that, but it's kind of Mike's fault." Eddie can't help but agree, though, he's unsure if he wouldn't do the same thing with Richie. He blushes at the thought of him and Richie on a date.

            "Yeah," he sighs.

            Why not wait, at least?" Richie asks, lying down on his bed.

            Subconsciously, Eddie remembers not to mention Patrick while he says his next words. "Mike and I telling our boss that we were done doing his bidding didn't sit well with him. We needed to you all that as soon as possible. He's coming."

            "What?" Richie's eyes widen. "Is-Is he coming to, like, kill us?"

            "Most likely, yes." Eddie runs his fingers through his hair. "We don't know when, but he'll probably come after me, Mike, you and Stan. Probably the rest if he’s especially angry."

            "Fuck," Richie says. Nervously, he readjusts his glasses, trying his best to block out past experiences. He feels the wall in his mind do its job and he calms down a little.

            Sensing the behaviour beside him, Eddie takes Richie's hand, noticing how close their faces really are when he turns to him. "I'm sorry you're apart of this. You don't deserve it."

            "Believe it or not, I'm pretty sure I've been through worse," Richie shrugs. "Plus, like I said, all that matters is that you realized what you were doing was wrong and you stopped."

            "And it’s the most intelligent thing you've ever said to me," Eddie smiles.

            Richie scoffs, "Fuck off."

            Eddie laughs and finds himself falling for Richie more and more with every waking second.


	24. Two Steps Backwards, One Step Forward

            **THE** first thing Mike notices when he walks into Art class is that Stan is nowhere to be seen. He looks behind him at the endless array of students making their way to their respective classes. Not a single one of them is the boy Mike is looking for. Once the bell rings, he takes a seat next to an empty desk and comes to a conclusion: Stan is definitely avoiding him.

He has no other reason to skip class, that's for sure, and Stan has stated multiple times that art is one of his favourite classes. There's a pain in Mike's chest, knowing he took the liberty to jeopardize his perfect attendance just so Mike wouldn't see him.

Even worse, the stolen glances at him become more noticeable as he looks around. He witnesses the judgement in their eyes, whispering to their friends, saying the meanest of things and his heart skips a beat. The room falls around him and his stomach feels it the most, slouching down in his seat for an attempt at comfort. It doesn't help.

Thirty minutes in, he realizes how boring art class is. Ms. Harland is always a treat to listen to, her voice is the only saving grace to stay awake but he can't help but think back to the small conversations him and Stan would have about the weirdest stories in Stan's childhood. Like the time he walked in on Richie dancing to Peggy Sue naked in his room. It makes Mike chuckle, thinking about it.

Then, that feeling of loneliness creeps back up on him when he sees the chair next to his has no one in it. Everything feels hollow, Ms. Harland's voice is a million miles away and Mike could hear a pin drop, the ringing in his ears growing stronger. Suddenly, he's back in the facility, surrounded by gray walls and tedious jumpsuits suffocating his neck. He sees no one his age, only scruffy males with the look of death in their eyes. He needs Stan, he would calm him down without knowing he did so. Stan always had that effect on him. But he's not here. And that's Mike's fault.

He should've listened to Beverly and told him before, Stan would have forgiven him by now and Mike wouldn't be so demeritorious about it. Turning back time is impossible, but Mike would crawl through the ends of the earth to change what happened between him and Stan. He guesses it's something you think about when you're falling for someone. He was aware of all the joy and pain that came with these emotions, but going through them was a whole different ball game.

Still, Eddie was right, it let him know that he was human and capable of caring for others. Emotions hurt like a bitch but they weren't his enemy.

To ease himself back into reality, he thinks about Stan for the whole class. His smile, his dimples, his golden-brown locks, his trademark eye rolls, his sarcasm, the whole package. _He'll come around. Just let him take his time._ Mike mind tell himself.

When the bell rings, Mike's aware that his next class might be one person down as well. If Stan didn't come to art then he surely isn't going to Literature. He sighs and pushes in his seat, making his way towards the door before he's cut off.

"Mike," Mrs. Harland calls, causing him to turn around.

"Yeah?"

"Do you know where Stan is? He's never missed a class," she asks, digging the pit deeper in his stomach.

"I-uh, I don't know," Mike shrugs.

Mrs. Harland raises an eyebrow, "You haven't called him at all?"

Mike considered calling Stan all weekend, but never found the strength to pick up the phone. Ultimately, in the back of his head, he saved himself the hopelessness of being greeted Stan's voicemail instead of Stan himself and decided it was his decision as to whether he would call Mike or not.

"No."

"So, you have no idea where he could be?"

Mike shakes his head, "Home, I guess?"

He starts to shrink under his teacher's gaze as he analyzes him. He feels like he's in interrogation training back at the facility preparing for instances where he got caught. The mock questions he was asked in that confined concrete room with nothing but a lamp blinding his vision were nothing like these questions. But, if he was caught lying in those mock interrogations, he'd get beat up repeatedly.

"You and Stan are in a fight, aren't you?" She questions.

"Wha—No, we aren't, we're just—"

"In a fight," she nods. "Who's fault is it?"

He scratches the back of his head. How is he losing his training so quickly? Usually, reading anything on Mike's face was near impossible. "How'd you know?"

"I already said so, he's never missed a class. The only reason he would is if he was practically forced too and his parents would never do that. Don't tell them I told you but they got their minds turned off, they don't open to anyone or anything." She explains, earning a curl on Mike's lips. "But that leaves you, and if my observations are correct, he wouldn't want to spend more than five seconds apart from you. The only time he would be is if he's mad at you or doesn't want to talk to you."

She hit the head on the nail. "Wow."

Mrs. Harland chuckles, "You're privacy is yours so I won't ask specifically what happened but I will say you need to find him. Obviously, you can't control what he does but if you speak, I think he'll listen."

Mike wants to believe her, but there's the part of him that knows Stan is hard to convince. Especially after he told him the truth, Stan couldn't even look him in the eye. The thought makes Mike choke up. "You really think so?"

She sighs, "No, but you're probably one of the only people to crack him. If anyone could get through to him, it's you."

Mike takes that with a grain of salt.

 

▼▼▼

 

Eddie rolls his eyes for the fifth time in ten minutes, looking at the boy next to him in annoyance. His mind begs him to slap the boy senselessly, then unexpectedly changes to kissing him senselessly as if it couldn't bring itself to doing the former to him. He hates how his mind works to people he likes. "No, I haven't scaled a building."

Richie's been asking non-stop questions, stretching from reasonable to downright absurd. He thought maybe Ben or Bill or Beverly would ask him to stop, but they still haven't. He concludes they have the same inquiries but only Richie's bold enough to ask them aloud.

"Ah, so other guys do the dangerous shit while you stay on the ground?" Richie asks, causing Eddie to scoff.

"I do dangerous shit. What are you talking about?" He crosses his arms.

"Like what?"

"I chased a guy through Madrid on a motorcycle," Eddie says, thinking back on the mission. He realizes that the guy he chased and killed was probably just another personal vendetta to Patrick. He feels his stomach drop for bragging about it.

"You've been to Madrid?" Ben asks and Eddie nods, discreetly lowering his head in shame.

"So you speak spanish, _mujer_?" Richie attempts a Spanish accent and that sounds alright but—

"Richie, you just called me a woman," Eddie says flatly.

Bill starts laughing hysterically, leaning over to Ben who's laughing even harder. Richie smiles apologetically and gives the finger to his two friends. "Fuck you."

" _Jódete_ ," Eddie corrects.

"Yeah, whatever he said," Richie points as Mike walks up to the table, disheveled.

"Oh! Look at who f-fuh-finally decided to sh-sho-show up?" Bill says, anger taking over. Mike sinks into the table, ready to hear how horrible of a person he is.

Richie rolls his eyes. "Bill, calm down—"

"No! I'm grounded b-buh-be-because of y-yuh-y-yo-y-y-y—shit!"

Mike furrows his eyebrows, "What?"

"You didn't give him back his camera and his parents got mad at him." Ben explains and Mike lets out a sigh of relief.

"Oh, I thought you were mad about the organization." He earns a death glare from Bill in return, the small smile on Mike's face snuffed out.

"No, we understand. Beverly told us it wasn't your fault." Ben takes his girlfriend's hand lightly and smiles in Mike's direction. Still a little upset at Beverly, he only gives her a nod and proceeds to avoid eye contact with her.

"Hey, I'm still gr-gruh-gr-grounded!" Bill exclaims.

"Oh c'mon Billy! You'll have all the time in the world to catch up on your masturbation sessions now." Bill throws his pencil case at Richie.

"You guys seen Stan?" Mike asks, the question itching his mind.

"He called me yesterday, saying he wasn't going to come to school today because he was sick," Ben says. "Then proceeded to do the fakest cough I've ever heard in my life."

"So he's avoiding me," Mike concludes.

"Sorry about that, Mikey." Richie pats his back.

"He'll come around," Beverly assures.

"The more people say that, the less I'm inclined to believe it."

The saying is desensitizing Mike and he starts to feel that himself and other people are only telling him this to make him feel better. All he wants is for Stan to forgive him, he doesn't know how long he can take the treatment. Beverly tells him to wait it out but Ms. Harland tells him to talk to Stan. Both are valid methods, yet Beverly's a close friend of Stan, she's known him longer. If space is what Stan needed, then that's what Mike needs to give him. That doesn't make it any less harder, though.

"Well, Stan obviously needs his space a-a-and I'm willing to respect it if y-yuh-y-you will. The problem is your b-b-boss."

"Right," Eddie says.

"What's the plan?" Richie asks, looking around.

The table goes silent.

"Well, shit." Richie sighs, accidently grazing Eddie's arm.

"We can't come up with a plan if we don't know his motives. It's either he's coming after me and Mike or Richie and Stan or all of us." Eddie explains, using all the knowledge he knows about Patrick to get a read on him.

No matter how long he's been Eddie's boss, he could never get inside his head. Patrick seemed to know how to control his emotions, that's why it's so enforced, but with all that has happened, he can't help but think otherwise. What if Patrick had no emotions? What if he couldn't feel the way others could? Mike had used the word psychopath before and Eddie took it as a passive insult, but maybe he was right. The problem stems from the fact that Eddie has no idea how to think like that. _Thankfully, though_. He thinks.

"It's probably us," Mike says. "We're the ones he pissed off."

Eddie remembers the phone call.

_I think you seem to forget the fact that I said you can only be looking out for you. Because what really makes you feel like shit is when you make friends and it's your fault when you see them die gruesomely, slowly, painfully. And I'll make sure you feel that, Kaspbrak._

"He's definitely going after Richie and Stan," he says, shifting closer to Richie.

"How d-duh-d-do you know that?" Bill asks.

"When I called him, he basically told me that he was going after my friends." Eddie rubs his forehead, frustrated. In turn, he feels a soft hand massage his shoulders, relaxing his tense muscles. He smiles and turns to Richie beside him who sends him a crooked one back. He has to save this boy at all costs.

"Then maybe you and Stan should sit out," Beverly suggests, making Richie snap his head towards her.

"Excuse you! I want to face the asshole who tried to have me killed."

"Chee, I don't think that's a very good idea either." Eddie grabs the hand massaging him and rubs the back with his thumb.

"Why not?"

Beverly gives Eddie a knowing look, earning a subtle shrug in response. He scans around the table, asking for some assistance on the matter.

"You can't expect me to just stay in my room."

"You could make me another mixtape?" Eddie tries to joke but only gets a stale look of annoyance in response. The sentence does spark an idea in Richie's head, however. He'll have to put that in his back pocket.

"Look Chee, if he's going after you then it's best you stay far away from him as possible."

"I can be bait," Richie suggests.

"Why the hell would you want to be bait?" Ben tilts his head as Eddie rolls his eyes.

"Because I wanna go! Please, guys, let me go," Richie pleads. "Worse case scenario—"

"Worse case scenario, you die. And I've made a promise to myself to not let that happen," Eddie interrupts.

"You can't just keep me from going."

"I can and I will," Eddie bites back. Sometimes he forgets how much Richie can persevere and plant his flag in the sand.

"If he's coming after me then don't you think he'll be looking for me?"

"No."

"Oh, just no? Wow, you make an excellent argument—"

"You're not going, Richie! End of discussion!" Eddie's hand rips from Richie's and slaps both on the table with a tone of harsh finality. Richie recoils, looking to the rest of the group for help but they're all frozen in shock at what had ensued. Eddie notices this immediately and sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Listen, I'm so—"

"I need to go," Richie says heatedly, standing up to leave. He clears his throat and shares one last glance with Eddie before making his way to the doors.

The latter groans and gets up as well, following after him. He never means to make Richie upset, that's the last thing he wants to do, but he also doesn't want him to get hurt, or worse. Doing before thinking was kind of Richie's thing and who knows what he could do when met face-to-face who caused him so much trauma as a child.

He finally catches up to him and sees him talking to who he believes is Gretchen? Gerta? Genny? He couldn't be bothered to learn names outside of the people he needed to know. Anyways, she sounds urgent, there's worry flushed across her face. Her movements are frantic and she seems to be breathing between every word.

"You need to get there quick," he hears as he walks up to them.

"Where is she?" Richie asks, feeling another presence beside him. He sighs when he sees who it is.

"Near the doors of the cafeteria," Gretchen? says.

"Thanks, Greta," Richie says before running off again.

"Richie, wait!" Eddie calls, picking up the pace once again.

"Don't you have a prison cell to make for me? Y'know, to make sure I don't escape?" Richie says sarcastically, keeping his eyes on the students around him.

"I'm trying to say I'm sorry."

"So you're gonna let me go?"

Eddie stays silent, biting the inside of his cheek. It makes Richie scoff.

"Wow," he says, picking up his pace.

"Richie, c'mon—"

The two stop to witness the predicament next to the doors of the loudest place in the school right now. Richie's fists clench as he watches his little sister pushed up against the lockers by a rather angry Preston. He holds her up by her collar, making her hover over the ground. She's shaking.

There's a spark in Richie's eyes that Eddie has never seen before. It's pure unfiltered rage taking him over, coursing through his veins, flaring his nose, popping the veins in his forehead. It's definitely bad timing but Eddie can't help but think he looks really hot right now.

"You'd better tell them it's a lie!" Preston says, banging her against the locker.

"Sorry, my parents always told me to tell the truth. It'd go against my morals, you see," Rosie says cheekily. It earns her another hit to the locker, making her groan harshly.

Richie immediately jumps in, pushing Preston away, allowing Rosie to find her footing and hides behind her older brother, holding onto his arm. She's never been so relieved to see him in so long. Preston trips over himself but doesn't fall, turning himself around to face Richie and Rosie. His blond hair is disheveled and his jacket is wrinkled, amplifying the wildness in his eyes.

"Look who decides to show up!" He exclaims. "The faggot and his boyfriend."

"Leave my sister alone, Preston," Richie says, pulling Rosie further behind him.

"Your sister is a fucking liar and's been spreading rumours about me!" He exclaims, accusingly pointing at Rosie.

"What happened was nothing but the truth. You were just too drunk off your ass to remember."

Richie looks between both parties with furrowed brows, "What happened?"

"He moaned your name while he was making out with me, Rich," Rosie says, making Richie's eyes comically widen. He almost feels compelled to disbelieve her as well. But he doesn't because, regardless of what's happened between them, this is something she wouldn't lie about. Richie can feel it, like sibling telepathy. He can't help but laugh at the circumstances, though, a small spark of pride in his body.

"Excuse me?" He has always been dreaming of the day Preston would get his comeuppance. Being outed is obviously something that no one should face, especially when they aren't ready to do so but Preston is an exception. It's mean to think that, Richie's experienced it first-hand but he doesn't give a fuck. Preston deserves it.

"I would've remembered that, you _bitch_ —"

"Don't call her that, dickwad," Richie snaps. Preston throws daggers towards the siblings, the grip around his fists growing tighter.

"Why would I ever say the name of the guy who forced himself onto me?" A crowd begins to form around the debacle, a series of murmurs floating in the air. Somethings going to happen, all of them can feel it.

"Well, there's also the fact you said you only dated me because I looked like Richie," Rosie says, composing a chorus of gasps sprinkled through the crowd.

"The hits just keep comin', don't they?" Eddie rests his hands on his hips.

"N-No, that's not true—"

"Yeah, it is!" Greta emerges from the crowd, standing next to Rosie. "She left the party crying because of it, Preston."

"So, you're just going to believe what she says?" Preston seethes.

"Yeah, dude. What reason would she have to lie?" Eddie replies as the crowd's whispers increase in volume. All of the comments are pointing fingers to Preston and they aren't supportive in the slightest, there's pressure rising in the blond-haired boy.

"Was anyone talking to you, fag?" He points.

"You should point that finger right back at yourself!" Greta snarls, taking a step towards him.

"She's fucking lying! I would never go near that trashmouth."

"You mean the same trashmouth you were friends with for years on end?" Richie tilts his head, enjoying every minute of this. He doesn't even fucking care.

Preston bites his cheek, unsure of what to say. The group has him stumped, keeping him at the edge of his toes. He's close to falling.

"Preston's a fucking fairy!" A student yells, causing an uproar of agreement mixed in with laughter. They're pointing at him, mocking him, making fun of him, just like Richie years before. Preston has never felt that before, being rejected by those around him because of _one_ thing he can't even change. Something like that usually built empathy in oneself.

Preston isn't like that though. No, he needs someone to blame for all of this. His blood boils with exacerbation, narrowing his eyes at the root of the problem. Flames form in his bright eyes, blinding any source of rationality. He makes his way towards the person who started all this confusion in the first place, raising his fist.

Richie feels the pain explode in his left eye like a supernova, falling backwards and slamming his head onto the tiled floor. His vision gets watery, blurring everything around him as the crowd goes silent all at once. All Richie can hear is the concern cries of his sister and the boy he's supposed to be mad at.

They both immediately help him up while Preston shakes his bruised fist in an attempt to ease the pain. Richie stumbles, leaning against Rosie for support, realizing he can only see out of his right eye. The left one throbs aggressively, sure to develop a black eye. Still, if that's the price he has to pay for getting his revenge, he'll take it.

"Preston, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Rosie says, wrapping her arm around Richie.

Preston doesn't answer, the embers glowing bright with red hot rage, ready for the next blow. This time, his trajectory lands for Rosie, intending to hit her right in the nose. Her eyes widen as she watches Preston wind up, then closes her eyes in anticipation. She figures it's her punishment of everything she's done, maybe she deserves the ounce of pain. Plus she's been hit in less pleasant locations anyways, the lacrosse gear didn't protect everything. It doesn't land, however, thanks to Eddie catching the punch right in front of her face.

He rolls Preston's arm back, a series of bone cracks emanating from the abnormal position. He whimpers like a dog as he watches Eddie push it with absolute ease. What the fuck does this guy eat? Preston thinks.

"Don't _ever_ put your fucking hand near either of them. You understand me?" Eddie's voice becomes low and husky, something Richie's never heard before. His eyes turn—Well, one of his eyes turn to hearts, looking on with absolute admiration. The twitch comes back. _God, I'm in love with this boy._

"Let go, man," Preston pleads weakly. Eddie only pulls back further, another whimper escaping.

"I didn't hear you say you understand?" It pains him to think he misses being so intimidating, but he makes a promise that this'll be his second-to-last time. And who else to spend it on then one of the guys who made Richie's high school experience a living hell?

"I f-f-fucking understand! Just let go!" Reluctantly, Eddie complies but not before tugging his arm down to flip him over. Preston lands on his back, groaning painfully as he caresses his vertebrae, rocking on the ground.

The crowd lets out an "Oh!" and rips the silence apart, erupting in indistinct chatter as they swallow Preston whole. Somehow, amidst the chaos, he manages to escape but not without some onlookers following, continuing their torment. The four opposers of Preston could only watch in amusement, too relieved to feel any sympathy.

Eddie turns around to see Richie, awestruck, a few seconds from getting down on one knee. Little did Eddie know, he was definitely considering it. "That was fucking awesome... At least I think it was, I can't fucking see."

"You do have a black eye, Rich," Rosie states matter-of-factly.

"I think he knocked out my contacts too." Richie blinks his eyes to try and get his eyes in focus. No such luck.

"You should take him to the nurse," Greta suggests, the ghost of a smile on her lips. Richie gives her a hesitant nod and walks off with the support of Eddie and Rosie on his sides with a stumble in his step while the crowd looks on expectantly.

"Show's over, assholes!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is when things really go to shit.


	25. Raising The Stakes

**R** **ICHIE**  winces as the ice pack presses against his swollen eye, jerking his head away when it stays on for too long. Eddie gives him an apologetic look and asks him if he doesn't want the ice all together but Richie declines. It's been almost fifteen minutes after the fight and he can still feel his head throbbing. In the heat of the moment, Richie felt like the king of the world as he faced off against Preston, but that moment's done and the pain has settled in.

            He has Eddie though. He couldn't ask for more than that, considering he severely injured Preston both emotionally and physically. Never once had he thought the day when Preston got his ass handed to him, it would come from a guy he continually falls for everyday. As Eddie presses the ice pack to his eye again, Richie uses his good one to admire the boy in front of him and wonders how he got so lucky.

            Eddie's eyes stay down at his free hand, examining the scars where he dug his nails. He thinks of a future where he doesn't have to be this anxious anymore. No more facility, no more assignments, no more Patrick. Just him and Mike and his friends and Richie.

            Richie.

            He looks up at said boy only to find him tearing his eyes away and focusing on a diagram on the wall. Eddie blushes and looks away as well, trying to convince himself he's seeing things. The words of his friends go through his mind and his heart beats a little faster.

            "Has the throbbing gone down?" He asks, trying to save both of them from awkward silence.

             "My head is still pounding, but it's better than before," Richie says.

            "Good, good," Eddie nods then blurts out "I'm sorry."

            Richie furrows his brows but quickly catches on and shakes his head.

            "No, it's not right of me to force you to do things." Eddie looks down.

            "I guess I was being stupid too. I didn't want to be left out, even though that's probably the best thing to do."

              Eddie sighs, understanding. "I just don't wanna lose you... I can't lose you. I don't know what I'd do if you died because of me."

            Richie's stomach flips when he hears that, and in a rare moment, feels like he matters to someone that's not the losers. "That's nice to know, though."

            Eddie sends him a tight smile and grabs his hand as his words seep into Richie's mind. He knows the boy stopped his job on this particular assignment but he wonders if there was anything else that also made him question the assignments he was given. Richie doesn't mind being the special person to crack through Eddie's strengthened ideals and morals but he can't believe that this wasn't building for years.

            "Hey, Spaghetti?" The boy in question rolls his eyes but looks to Richie anyway. "Have you ever come close to defecting?"

            Eddie tenses his up and sees a shadow in the corner, staring back at him. There's a dime-sized whole in his head. He tries to remain calm "Why would you ask that?"

            "Well, you couldn't have all of a sudden made the decision to just stop, right?" Richie shrugs. He regrets his question, however, when Eddie has his eyes fixed on the corner ahead of him, his breathing a little heavier. "Shit, okay, you don't have to tell me."

            "No, no, I'm fine." Eddie shakes his head, trying to take breaths. "It's a heavy subject, is all.

            "Fock, mate," Richie switches to Australian to comfort himself and Eddie. It seems to work as Eddie chuckles, the shadow in the corner slowly fading away. Eddie doesn't want to drop the conversation though. Maybe talking about it would help, the more he represses it the worse it gets. Hiding, what he feels was the first guy he liked, really wasn't the best thing.

            But, would telling Richie diminish his chances with him? Eddie couldn't go five seconds without blushing around Dylan and talking about him was even worse, then bringing up his death is a whole new level of difficulty. Yet, Eddie can't confidently say that he loved Dylan, he doesn't know why. Maybe if he had more time, he would or maybe he wasn't meant to. It's been a month or so now since Dylan and Eddie realizes he's never brought the boy up. He convinces himself that if he were to spill the beans to Richie, blushing and stuttering wouldn't be a problem.

            "I'll tell you," Eddie says.

            "You don't have to—"

            "I want to." Eddie takes a breath as a figure passes through the window behind them. The person goes unnoticed but if Richie were to peer over Eddie's shoulder and Eddie were to turn around, they'd recognize the person in a heartbeat.

            "Okay, I'll turn my trashmouth off for a minute." Richie zips his mouth shut, locks it, and throws away the key. Eddie feels himself relax.

            "I've always had a nagging feeling in the back of my head that told me this wasn't a good job. I guess my boss was the only thing shutting that part up. He basically raised me and taught me how to remain stoic even at the most gruesome of times. He told me it would toughen me up, make me more manly instead of the pussy I was when he found me." At this point, Richie desperately wanted to tell a joke but bit his tongue.

            "My mom had filled me with paranoia for everything in sight. She even convinced me I was sick and put me on meds, told me I needed to watch what I do, what I eat," Eddie scoffs. "Ironically, she died of diabetes."

            Richie feels like a therapist as Eddie opens up about his past. He can tell by the way he talks that he's never done this before. His brain asks him to put on a therapist act but Richie declines and continues to keep silent.

            "Pat—My boss beat that out of me though. First he made watch as he lit flies on fire. It wasn't the killing of flies that scared me, it was him lighting them up. He liked to watch them suffer before they did, said it was his favourite hobby. Then, he jumped to rabbits. He'd trapped them in boxes with no holes and made me sit as the thing kicked the box, trying to get out until it stopped." Eddie doesn't feel his eyes well up like he used to when it first happened. "The last animal was dogs, probably the worst one. Unlike last time, he forced me to kill them myself. He gave me one as a pet and told me to feed it poison. I cried when it died so he gave me a new one and said that once I stopped being so emotional, he'd stop. Mike ensures the same thing but tried to let the dog go without anyone knowing. My boss found out and tracked it down then took it back, then put Mike in a cell with it. My boss chained both him and the dog, and made Mike watch the dog eat poison until it died. He told me that toughened him up but I heard him crying before he went to sleep for a month after it happened."

            Richie couldn't help it. "Jesus fucking Christ."

            "It wasn't until four dogs that I became completely emotionless. That's when I had my first kill... with a human and I hate to say it felt good, but it did. Mainly because my boss told me what he did, which I now know was a lie. That's when he put me in the field and the questions started building up. The stories got more confusing and convoluted but I never told my boss I was suspicious especially since I knew what he was capable of and in my mind, he had been nothing but helpful to me. Then I started dealing with teens." Eddie subconsciously narrows his eyes to Richie. The latter gulps.

            "Fourteen teens, Chee, fourteen. They were either going to graduate high school in a few months or on their way to starting twelfth grade. And now they don't get to... b-because of me. After the assignments, I'd get nightmares, see them in the corners of rooms, go into a panic attack, and when I told my boss he only said it was part of the job," Eddie sighs. "So that's what I told myself during the next seven assignments until the fourteenth one."

            That's when Eddie feels his eyes burn. "His name was Dylan."

            Richie can tell by Eddie's tone just how different this assignment was compared to the rest.

           "He was shorter than me, if you can believe it." Eddie laughs, thinking about the times he teased Dylan about his height. He was the shortest kid in his class and tormented for it but only in a joking manner. If anything he was a very well-liked person by all of his peers. Eddie's stomach drops. "I was probably the closest with him out of all of them. We had a secret spot in the woods, I was at his house and vice versa everyday, and then it became something a little more."

            "You fell for him," Richie says.

            "Yeah," Eddie nods. "He came over and told me he liked me. We made out afterwards. It was the worst decision of my life and I was panicking because I lead both Dylan and my boss on, basically dating Dylan at this point and telling my boss that I was days away from killing him."

            "Basically dating?" Richie could only focus on Dylan. Eddie never had a secret spot with him nor did Eddie ever invite him to his house. He removes the ice pack from his eye and looks down.

            "We went on one date," Eddie shrugs. "Everything else was just making out, then an occasional HJ. Come to think of it, we never actually had a full conversation after the confession. Anyway, I stupidly decided to listen to my boss because I'm a coward—"

            "—Hey—"

            "Sorry, but it's true. I told Dylan to meet up at our spot because I wanted to talk. He started panicking, thinking he'd done something wrong and I was trying to calm him down but it didn't work. So I lied and told him I wanted to take things further as a couple."

            Richie flinches at the thought of Eddie with another boy. Guiltily, he's happy that Dylan never got the chance but the fact he had to die so it wouldn't happen makes his heart drop. If Eddie liked him, Richie probably would've liked him too.

            "When he came, I chloroformed him and called a few coworkers to drive us somewhere where we wouldn't be seen. We ended up in a warehouse and they beat him up, then I shot him dead." Eddie let a few tears escape at this point. "At that point, the emotion seeped in after years of keeping it in. Then I met you and Stan and Ben and Bill and Beverly... I had never related to anyone as much as you guys aside from Mike and it was refreshing, so much so that I couldn't do it anymore."

            "Well shit," Richie breathes after a long pause, tears in his eyes. "I can't believe you went thr—Jesus, why am I crying? What the fuck?"

            Eddie playfully sighs and wipes Richie's tears with his thumb, "Sorry."

            "Don't be sorry, shut the fuck up. That was the first time you shared this?"

            "Yeah—"

            "Y'know what? I'm not going to sugarcoat it, you did horrible shit, real horrible shit. It was traumatizing just hearing about it, I can't even imagine living it. You killed and tortured all kinds of species and I'll be one hundred percent honest, I'd probably want to keep my distance from you," Richie says. Eddie sadly nods, looking down.

            "But goddamnit, I wouldn't be able to."

            "Huh?" Eddie perks up.

            "You're literally one of the best people I've ever met. How you got yourself into that organization, I don't know but you've got the kindest heart and the brightest personality I've ever seen. If your boss, apparently, drained all emotion from your system then I'm surprised because you're already so full of life. Even with what he did, I think you're too tough to crack because you're Eddie fucking Kaspbrak!"

            "Stop," Eddie blushes.

            "I'm serious, old chap. I wouldn't trade ya fo no one." Once again, Eddie laughs and hides his face in his hands. Richie's convinced he's just seen the cutest thing known to man. "Plus what you did, you aren't doing now. You changed the negative and kept the positive."

            "Thanks, Chee." Eddie smiles.

            "Hopefully those HJ's classify as positive," Richie deliberately mutters loud enough for Eddie to hear. In response, Eddie playfully cringes and slaps Richie's arm.

             "God, shut up. Hold the phone. Back the truck. Beep beep, Richie."

            " _Beep beep, Richie?_ "

            "I don't know, it just came to me... I'm going to use it."

            "No, you're not—"

            "Beep beep Richie," Eddie smugly smiles and Richie rolls his eyes.

            "I swear to god—"

            "Beep beep Richie."

            Surprisingly, Richie goes silent and puts the ice back on his eye. Eddie starts to laugh and shakes Richie's shoulders. "Looks like it works."

             " _Looks like it works_." Richie mocks, brushing his hair out of his face.

            "Thank you though. For listening, I mean."

            A smile creeps on Richie's face. "No problem."

            "And, Chee?"  _Wait, What am I doing?_  Eddie thinks.

            "Yeah?" Richie says, occupied.

            "I-um, I wanted to say—I want to tell you—"

            A blood-curdling scream echoes through the halls, making Richie jump and Eddie whip his head towards the window. The two share a look and quickly leave the room, following the increasing crowd of people. "What the fuck was that?"

             Eddie doesn't answer and keeps walking, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He tries to shut his mind off and suspects someone might've seen a spider or something. The group is at its biggest when crowding around a room. They seem to be trying to catch a glimpse of what's inside the art room. Eddie catches Mike with Beverly as they stare in horror in front of them.

            When Eddie turns his head, he can't look away. All of a sudden, he gets flashes of the facility, of Roger. His heart beats out of his chest as he shares a look with Mike who seems to be flashing back to the same thing. The only difference is the multiple tear tracks down Mike's cheeks. He knew her, she helped him. And now she's gone, because of him.

            Inside the classroom, Ms. Harland hangs lifelessly by her neck. Her eyes are widen open and her head caved in, hair matted with blood. On the desk, the 'teacher of the year' cup is chipped and covered in blood.

             Eddie covers his mouth while Richie turns green, hearing someone throw up in the distance. His eyes trail down to the note attached to her shirt and his blood turns cold.

            "Eddie, the note." He points, his finger shaking.

            "I see it," Eddie replies, blurring out everything but the note. He knows exactly who did this.  
  
  
  


 

 

**_The boy's next_**.

 


	26. Bait and Switch (the oldest trick in the book) pt. 1

**MIKE**  is the first person to tear his eyes away from the corpse as the principal and a few other teachers block the view of it, telling students to leave the hallway. He scratches his head anxiously and pushes past students, making his way towards the exit. Eddie sees him and follows, muttering "excuse me" each time he bumps into someone. He can practically feel Mike's worry radiating and merging with his own. It's hard to swallow but it's true. Patrick's here, in Derry.

            Everything feels so surreal, like some type of nightmare in disguise. Eddie knew he was going to come eventually but that didn't mean he would be ready nor would he think Patrick would go after someone who wasn't even involved. Ms. Harland is merely an art teacher who just wanted to teach kids about the wonders of visuals and now that can't happen because Patrick couldn't go one second without making a statement. What was he supposed to expect though? This isn't abnormal behaviour for him.

            Eddie shivers at the thought and notices that the halls are getting smaller the further he walks. His breath feels tighter while the walls close in on him, whispers bouncing off them. He could hear previous assignments, begging him to get Patrick before it's too late. The pressure compresses his body and the struggle to breathe doesn't get easier. He flinches when a hand touches his, sending the walls back where they come from and the whispers diminish until they become as silent as air. He looks back and realizes it's Beverly, her eyes mirroring his own. She told Mike that she's endured terrible experiences before but that doesn't make the sights easy to swallow.

            "He's here, isn't he?" She asks, but Eddie can't speak and feels his mouth going dry. He simply nods, watching the colour in Beverly's face drain, highlighting her freckles. Silently, they catch up with Mike at the bike rack, the boy had already unlocked his bike. Once they hit the bottom step, Richie bursts through, catching his breath.

            Mike throws his leg over his bike, too caught up in his thoughts to notice the three people next to him. It isn't until, Beverly shouts "Mike," at the top of her lungs that he finally responds.

            "He's going after Stan, I know it." Mike pushes the kickstand up.

            "Well, where are you going?" Richie furrows his brows.

            "To get Stan, where do you think?" Mike snaps harshly.

            "And take him where, hm?" Richie says. Mike opens his mouth but quickly closes it, no safe spaces in his mind. Regardless, he needs to know Stan is okay because Patrick's obviously not here anymore and he knows Derry better than Mike ever will.

            "I still need to get him—"

            "You can't go alone," Beverly says. "Ben'll go with you. Just stop by his house and he'll get his van. Your boss will catch you guys on your bikes."

            Mike taps his bike at inhuman speed before agreeing begrudgingly and gesturing for Beverly to go and get Ben. She leaves with urgency, pushing the doors open so hard, they slap against the wall.

            "Where are we supposed to hide out?" Mike asks. Richie tries to think and sits down, narrowing his eyes at Mike's bouncing leg. Eddie still can't find anything to say, the rush to get Stan filling his brain as they wait for each second to pass by. He can't lose anyone else, he might just burst into pieces if it happens. Richie notices the boy's silence and rests his hand on Eddie's shoulder, causing Eddie to turn to him. Richie sends a knowing look.

            "I'm fine." Eddie's smile stands as strong as a crumbling building.

            "Spaghetti, none of us are fine. I know damn well I'm not, so please don't act like you are. Emotions are good, remember?" Richie states.

            Eddie runs his hands up and down his face before resting them in his hair. "Right, sorry."

            "It's okay. This is crazy," Richie sighs.

            "You already got yourself into that when you started going along with me and my job," Eddie says.

            "Probably would've been the worst decision of my life, honestly." Richie knows he accomplished what he wanted when Eddie sends him a smile, the sight making Richie's stomach flutter.

            Eventually, Ben, Bill and Beverly crash through the door and skip steps of the stairs, hopping to their bikes, alerting the other three. Richie and Eddie shoot up while Mike grips his handlebars, making eye contact with the three people that just came. There's a looming anvil over their heads, ready to break everyone to pieces. They fear for their friend, you would see it if you looked into any of their eyes. Nothing but pure terror.

            "Ben, you'll g-g-go with Mike to Stan's. Try your best to be discreet, d-d-don't make any sort of scene. And by that. I mean try not to have Stan make s-suh-s-such a scene. No offence Mike, but he still might b-b-be upset with you." Bill says, a look of remorse. Mike grips the handlebars of his bike but nods sadly. He can't ignore the fact he fucked up. "Eddie, you think your boss has gone to your house y-y-yet?"

            "Probably not. He gets angry easily and would be too blinded to think about it." Eddie says and Mike's heart drops. He needs to get to Stan now or he'll explode.

            "Good. Bev, go with him and g-g-get as many firearms you can carry. If you have a c-cuh-c-car there, use it." Bill instructs. "Rich and I will be at the clubhouse."

            "Shit," Beverly gets hit with a wave of nostalgia. "I almost forgot that existed. It's perfect."

            "Clubhouse?" Eddie questions.

            "It's underground. B-B-Ben built it for us when we were k-k-kids."

             "It was basically built to be unseen. We can hide out there and plan," Ben finishes.

            Mike harshly sighs, "Okay whatever! Can we go?"

            The group nods and starts going to their respective places, tension drowning the air around them. If you were to remove the subaudible sounds around them, you could hear the sound of butterfly wings pounding their stomachs. They had a plan but that didn't make them any less scared. For all they know, Stan could be taken or worse. But the key was staying positive, no matter how much the hope slowly but surely drained from each person's body.

            As Eddie and Beverly get ready to go, Richie speaks up, a jog in his memory.

            "I need to get something from my house, first," he says, looking down at the floor.

            "What? What do you need?" Eddie says with furrowed brows and an impatient tone. Mainly Richie wants to warn his little sister so Eddie's boss doesn't decide to go for her if he doesn't find Richie there. But there's also something too important for Richie to leave behind and since there's a big possibility he won't be allowed to go back to his house until after this situation, he needs to get it. He usually likes to push morbid thoughts away from his head, but he's not ruling out the fact that someone could die. It could be him or Bill or Beverly or Stan (if he isn't already), or Ben or Mike. Or Eddie. He needs to go to his house.

            "No, go straight to the clubhouse," Eddie says forcefully. "My boss is after you, remember?—"

            "I know, I know. I just really need to go, okay. It's important," Richie pleads. He almost considers going down on his knees for more effect. Eddie shakes his head but Bill sighs.

            "I'll g-g-go with you," he says.

            "No, Bill. We need you to be at the clubhouse. We haven't been there for so long, it'll be impossible to figure out exactly where it is." Beverly adjusts her key necklace.

            "Richie's not going alone," Eddie says more bluntly.

            "Spaghetti, I'll be fi—"

            "Don't say you'll be fine and don't fucking call me spaghetti! I already told you I can't lose you. Whatever's in your house, you can get after this is over. Please just go straight to the clubhouse." Eddie feels his voice crack. Richie reaches out to touch his hand and Eddie falls deeper into despair. Why can't he understand?

             "I've got the upper hand, okay. If I see someone shady, I'll motor through the back and take a shortcut through the forest. Please, Eddie, if my sister comes home to your boss, he'll go after her. She needs to be aware of the fact that she can't come home. We have a secret code and everything. She's the most important thing in my life, I can't let anything happen to her, just like you to me. Please."

            Eddie narrows his eyes to Richie's and realizes he's sending the puppy dog eyes Eddie's way. He would've called it out if he wasn't so mesmerized by them. He's already shouted at Richie earlier today, he can't bare to do it again. And his point is annoyingly valid. Eddie can't relate to having a sibling but if someone like Mike was unaware of this kind of thing, he wouldn't be able to help himself from going headfirst into danger for him.

            "Shit," Eddie sighs. "Fine, but go in and go out. Don't talk to anybody and if you see anything that's even slightly suspicious, you fucking run. You hear me, Tozier?"

            Richie salutes and heads off on his bike as Eddie watches while his nerves tickle his skin in fright. He closes his eyes and prays Richie gets to the clubhouse safely.

            "Please be safe," he whispers.

▼▼▼

            Going to Ben's house was a blur for Mike as he slouches his posture to keep his body away from the window. He taps his lap repeatedly and looks to Ben who is annoyingly driving at a steady pace. He explained that if they were driving all willy nilly, they'd draw attention to themselves but Mike so desperately wanted him to floor it.

            He glances at the houses passing by, looking out for cars that send him through memory lane. Patrick's cars were almost identical to each other and Mike drove them many times. So far, there's nothing.

            "How are we supposed to hide the car when we go into the forest?" Ben mutters to himself but Mike hears.

            "We could park it a few minutes away from the forest, maybe by a nearby store. Parking it right outside the forest is a dead giveaway. And we can't drive into the forest, the tracks will be suspicious," He says. Ben nods and makes a hard right, the knuckles of his hands fully white. None of them can think of anything else to say, the fear too strong in their bodies. It's as if they speak too loudly, Patrick could notice them even if their windows are rolled all the way up.

            Mike can't think of what to say when he sees Stan. Will he apologize first, or get straight to the point and tell him he's in danger? Mike is sure that when he tells Stan about what's going on, he'll agree to go with them but that doesn't mean Stan will just forgive and forget. Hell, he might get even madder that he's being thrusted into this situation.

            He doesn't have time to figure things however when Ben pulls up to Stan's house. Ben gestures for him to hurry and go, causing Mike to gulp nervously but do as he is told. He checks left and right for suspicious activity and runs up to Stan's front door when he detects nothing. The driveway is empty as well.

            Mike doesn't hesitate to knock but feels a pain in his chest as he waits for someone to answer. Anxiously, he turns back for anyone who could be watching, scanning the weirdly quiet atmosphere. Had they already gotten to Stan?

            The question is proved to be wrong when Mike is greeted with a set of messy curls, pyjamas, a robe and house slippers. Mike feels all weights lifted off him and a set of new ones taking its place.

            "Mike?" Stan frowns, rubbing his eyes. He probably woke up from a nap.

            "Look, I'm going to be quick and say you need to come with me. My boss is here, he came to school and killed Ms. Harland—"

            "Ms. Harland is dead?" Stan's eyes widen, water brimming his eyes. The sight makes Mike want to wrap him in his arms.

            "Yeah," Mike sighs. "But he's after you now, there was a note on her body that said you were next. So we need to get you out of here now."

            There's still that disconnect between him and Stan, Mike can see it in the way Stan looks at him like a stranger would. Still, he has to push those thoughts away and get his number one priority safe.

            "I'm still wearing my pyjamas," Stan panics, looking down at his clothes.

            "We really have no time, Stan." Mike looks behind himself once more.

            "Will you at least let me put on real shoes?"

            "Yeah, okay." Mike sends him a small smile. Stan doesn't return it and goes to put on shoes. Mike's stomach drops.

            Stan comes back without his robe and a pair of running shoes. He walks past Mike and sees Ben's car parked out front. Mike lets out a harsh breath and descends down the porch, taking the shotgun while Stan sits in the back, clicking his seatbelt in.

            "You haven't seen anything suspicious. Right, Stan?" Ben asks, starting the car.

            Stan shook his head. "No, you guys completely caught me off guard."

            "You feeling better?" Mike asks, catching Stan in his lie. He doesn't look sick at all.

            "What?" Stan asks.

            "Ben said you were sick. That's why you couldn't come to school today." Mike can't look Stan in the eye when he says that, and plays with his fingers instead.

            "Yeah, uh-it was a false alarm. But I decided to stay at home because I was already late." Stan's words seem as if he's making things as he goes along. To make matters more uncomfortable, Ben sends Mike a knowing look, telling him this is not typical behaviour. He just decides to drop it and move on, there's no point in trying to detect if Stan is mad at him.

            Instead, he tries to comprehend how easy this was. There's no sign of unusual activity, the streets are quiet, the road is free of tire tracks. It's calm. Even Mike himself would feel comfortable walking around the area without worry for Patrick. But that's what worries him about this. He can sense something feels off about this situation, especially with how they got to Stan before Patrick. It should've been Patrick getting here first, he left earlier, could he have gone to the house instead?

            If that's the case, Beverly and Eddie need to be careful.

 


	27. Bait and Switch (the oldest trick in the book) pt. 2

**EDDIE'S** legs are crying by the time he reaches the house and gets off his bike, ignoring their pleas for rest. He races up the porch and grabs two guns under the welcome mat and hands one to Beverly. He tells her to get the bag in the shed and grab as many small firearms and ammo as she can. Then he says, if she sees anyone, shoot them but don't kill them. She nods and goes without hesitation.

Eddie peaks through the window and sees no sense of movement. He slides the key and unlocks the door, opening it slowly as it creaks with every push. His gun is pointed out, armed and ready. There's no one here that doesn't need to be except Beverly so caution isn't on his mind right now. He sweeps through the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom and concludes all three are clear.

He travels upstairs and sweeps the bedrooms and the bathroom. All clear. Eddie sighs and lowers his gun, relieved his assumptions about Patrick were right. Maybe he would've just shot Patrick if he saw him, but if he's being honest with himself he would have too many questions to ask. All he knows is that he's happy Patrick isn't here.

He grabs as many of his and Mike's belongings, Bill's camera going unnoticed by him. He makes sure to take Richie's mixtape for him, blushing when he picks it up. God, he hopes Richie is okay. Once he descends down the stairs, he grabs the briefcase of money and some snacks from the fridge, unsure of how long they're going to be down there. It could be an hour, or it could be a day, only time will tell.

Eddie closes the door behind him and opens the garage, unlocking the cars inside. He picks the van, knowing Patrick always looked for cars that were less discreet and chose to ignore bigger looking ones because if they were being that open, they had nothing to hide.

Beverly eventually meets up with him, struggling but managing to hold the bag of ammunition. She puts it in the back as Eddie throws what he got as well, his heart beating a little faster when he closes the back door.

"What did you get?" Eddie asks, taking the driver's seat.

"Okay, I know you said small-and I got a lot of small ones! But I decided we could use a sniper."

An incredulous pause.

"And why the fuck would we need a sniper?"

"Long range," Beverly says simply.

Eddie furrows his brows and looks on in disbelief, wondering what was going through her mind when she made the decision to get the sniper. How the fuck did she even carry it?

"Whatever," Eddie sighs and starts the car, afraid if he talks back, Beverly will chew him out.

"You think they got Stan?" Beverly asks. "Mike and Ben, I mean."

"If they didn't get Stan, I think I'd hear Mike screaming from the top of his lungs all the way out here," Eddie says, trying to convince himself more than Beverly.

"And Richie?"

Eddie grips the steering wheel and his knuckles turn white. "Richie's smart. We both know he's smart. He's a dumbass but he's smart."

Beverly forces a chuckle, narrowing her eyes to Eddie's staggered breaths. She places a hand on his shoulder, sending a small smile. Even in the most stressful moments, Beverly Marsh's smile can calm anything down. Eddie is no exception.

"We're gonna get Patrick, alright? We'll save Stan and Richie and you'll be able to tell him how you feel. Happily ever after, blah blah blah."

Eddie puts the car in reverse then backs out rather anxiously. "How I feel? I don't feel anything—What?"

"Jesus," Beverly scoffs, leaning back in her seat. "There's no need to deny it."

"I'm not denying anything. I'm not in love with Richie—" Eddie takes a second to realize what he just said, keeping his eyes straight to the road. The sentence makes his arteries explode in excitement while his brain tells him this is the stupidest thing he's ever said.

"Woah! I never said you were in love with him!" Beverly puts her hands up in defense, turning Eddie's cheeks red. "I just said you would tell him how you feel about him. Unless—"

"No! No, I'm not-there's no-I'm not in love with Richie. Yeah, I like guys and Richie's a guy but that doesn't mean I have to be in love with him. He's just...different, a different guy." Eddie has to stop himself from going down the endless list of words to describe Richie. Different seemed like the right way to go.

Beverly stares for a while, watching him recoil in her gaze. He slouches in his seat, his hands are shaking and his face refuses to let the blood in his cheeks go away. Eventually, she lets it go, knowing he's been tormented enough. There's one thing for sure though. Eddie's definitely in love with Richie. "Okay."

Eddie nods and asks which way to the clubhouse to get the previous conversation in the past. It shouldn't even be his number one priority right now. Whether he's in love or not (which he believes he isn't) is the least of his problems. Patrick is at the top of his list right now, as well as getting the ammunition to the clubhouse and making sure everyone is there.

His mind then goes to Richie alone in his house. He knows his house much better than Eddie does but he can't help but think Richie will be trapped in his own house with no escape. However, Ms. Harland is Stan and Mike's teacher so Patrick was obviously trying to send a message.

Regardless, when he gets to the clubhouse, he better see six other people down there with him.

 

▼▼▼

 

Richie looks behind him before closing the door of his house. He claps his hands together, filled with adrenaline. So far, there's no one outside, the house is empty and the cars are gone. He doesn't know how long he'll have until they come but he knows it's not a lot, so he needs to be as quick as possible.

The first thing he does is race up the stairs to his parents' room and looks for a tie in his dad's drawer. He sifts through blues and blacks and oranges before finally landing on a red tie. Each colour had a different meaning. Rosie made it up after she walked into the house and heard the walls banging. She was so traumatized that she felt her brother didn't need to endure the same thing. Blue meant 'friends are over.' Orange meant 'family gathering.' Black meant robbery (which was never used. And red meant don't come in under any circumstances stances, I promise you will be thankful.

Richie uses the red tie and ties it around the front door quickly, making sure no one can see him doing so. He then goes back upstairs, wiping his sweaty palms down his jeans, looking back at the front door every five seconds to check if someone is coming in. The paranoia starts to kick in, keeping his ears open for any passing cars racing by. When he reaches his room, he only hears one in total, locking the door to make himself feel safer. He takes a deep breath and nods his head in assurance, letting himself know he's safe.

Going to his box of cassettes, he comes across the second mixtape he made for Eddie. Ever since he mentioned making him another mixtape, Richie couldn't get the idea of adding one more song out of his head. Richie thinks it's the perfect song to really get his feelings across. Comedy is his strong suit but genuine words were always a little harder to come by. Richie's capable of them but not when it comes to sharing his emotions, the jokes were his shield for that. With the mixtape, however, he doesn't need to use his words.

He spends the next ten minutes recording the song onto the cassette, hoping that if he taps his finger, it'll speed up the process. To calm himself down, he paces and tries to figure out what he's going to say. "Hey, I wanted to give you—Hey! I was thinking I should give—What's up spaghetti! I decided I would make another mixtape for ya! I also added in a little somethi—God no! Be genuine, Rich!... Hey, Edd—"

Suddenly, Richie hears a car door slam shut and looks out his window. There's a slick black car parked outside his driveway with two men coming out of it. Richie's heart beats out of his chest as he sees them make their way to his front door. He looks back to the tape and sees it's done recording. His shaky hands grab the case and he fumbles to put the cassette into it. When he hears a knock at the door, he drops the cassette and struggles to pick it back up. He feels his throat tighten as he manages to pick it up and secures in the case.

There's another knock on the door, a little more harshly this time and Richie feels his time is running out. He looks to the window to find the two men nowhere in his sight, making the assumption that they are minutes away from charging through that front door. Thinking fast, he grabs the mixtape and runs for his bedroom door, praying he'll make it downstairs and through the back. He promised Eddie he'd be at the clubhouse and he doesn't plan on breaking it.

Things don't go his way, however, when he hears the front door burst open. Richie gasps and goes back to his bedroom, closing the door quickly and locking it once again. He leans his back against the wall and feels his chest tighten as his vision blurs. In a fit of hysteria, he takes off his contacts and reaches for his glasses, fixing his vision problem. It's not supposed to go like this, he should've listened to Eddie. He could've just called Rosie and told her to stay away from the house, but he had to use that as a way to get the cassette tape. Confessing his feelings had to be put aside, yet Richie only decided to focus on it instead of his own life. As a tear runs down his black eyes, he tries to keep his breathes low and presses his ear against the wall.

            "....the kid be in his own house? This is probably the last place he'd go."

            "Boss said to check every possible place."

            "What if he's with his friends?"

            "Johnny called in and said the group split up, but he lost em afterwards."

            "Fucking idiot."

            _They'd been following us this whole time?_ Richie's breath hitches.

A sigh is heard. "Where're we supposed to take im?"

"Some factory at the edge of town."

"I passed by like three of em! He's gotta be more specific."

"Iron—" the man pauses. "—something. I don't fucking remember what it's called.

Richie thanks the lord he decided to pay attention when Ben told him about the ironworks factory. He suspects that's the one they're talking about, his heart racing faster than he can comprehend. As the footsteps get closer, he reaches for a pen and pencil, keeping in mind that the two men are definitely capable of searching through his room and finding this note. Hesitantly, he messes up his bed and hides the cassette under the blanket, knowing he wouldn't be able to get out of this without being caught. He only hopes Eddie will find him and won't be mad when he does.

Contemplating, he decides to write one final thing, hearing the knob of his door struggle to open. "There's someone in here," he hears. Richie's mind blanks for a second as he thinks of the last two words. The pen grazes the paper then leaves it when he can't remember it. It has to be the perfect word and it's so simple but he doesn't know how to write it. It, unfortunately, becomes too late, the door bursting open.

Richie snaps his head to the intruders, watching the taller man on the left crack his knuckles. They're both wearing black shirts hugging their build, their muscles bigger than Richie's head. He gulps.

"Hey, there," the shorter man says, causing Richie to resort to leaping through the window. He manages to get one arm outside, his goosebumps tingling in hope that he might get out. One of them grabs his legs, however, while the other wraps his hand around Richie's face, bringing back the throb in his bad eye. He screams bloody murder and struggles under their grip, flailing furiously to escape. Flashbacks of four boys carrying his small preteen body fill his mind, his breaths getting mind-blowingly shorter. They carelessly throw him down, the taller man holding down his arms and the other reaching for a needle in his pocket.

"What is that?" Richie pants.

No answer. The needle gets closer to his neck.

"What the fuck is that, assholes?"

The two men laugh, "Something to make you shut up, Trashmouth."

Richie doesn't have time to comprehend how they know his nickname once they inject the needle into his veins. Immediately, the walls around him start to melt, the sun becomes darker and the two men begin to fade. His mouth gets dry as he tries to adjust his glasses, resting his head on the ground.

Then things go dark.


End file.
